FOREWORD 

IT  has  been  generally  accepted,  heretofore,  that  a  book 
printed  twenty  to  twenty-five  years  ago  could  not  be  re- 
published  successfully. 

"The  Story  of  a  Country  Town"  is  a  book  so  unusual  in 
character  that  we  believe  it  will  prove  an  exception  to  the 
rule.  Harper  &  Brothers  have  purchased  the  plates  of  the 
story  from  the  original  publishers,  and  are  making  this  ex 
periment  of  republication. 

The  story  has  been  entirely  redressed,  and  illustrations 
and  a  portrait  of  the  author  have  been  added.  In  this  new 
and  attractive  form,  we  believe  that  it  will  achieve  the  success 
to-day  that  its  exceptional  quality  of  human  interest  won 
for  it  years  ago. 

The  following  page,  together  with  two  pages  in  the  back 
of  the  book,  contain  excerpts  from  the  many  favorable  re 
views  which  appeared  in  the  press  at  the  time  the  book 
was  first  published, 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 


"THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN" 

Letter  from  W.  D.  HO  WELLS:  "  I  wish  to  thank  you  for 
the  great  pleasure  I  have  had  in  reading  your  *  Story  of  a  Country 
Town.'  It  is  a  very  remarkable  piece  of  realism,  and 
constitutes  a  part  of  the  only  literary  movement  of  our 
time  that  seems  to  have  vitality  in  it.  I  don't  know  how  to 
tell  you  the  impression  the  simple,  naked  humanness  of  the 
book  gives  me.  It  has  faults,  as  any  fool  might  say,  but 
be  sure  you  have  written  a  book  so  good  that  it  will  be  hard 
for  you  to  write  a  better.  Upon  your  honest  piece  of  work 
I  give  you  my  hand,  with  my  heart  in  it." 

MARK  TWAIN:  "I  believe  this  is  the  first  time  I  have  ever 
furnished  an  opinion  about  a  book,  but  I  like  the  '  Story  of  a 
Country  Town '  so  much  that  I  am  glad  of  the  chance  to  say  so. 
Howe's  style  is  so  simple,  sincere,  direct,  and  at  the  same 
time  so  clear  and  so  strong,  that  I  think  it  must  have 
been  born  to  him,  not  made.  His  picture  of  the  arid  village 
life,  and  the  insides  and  outsides  of  its  people,  are  vivid,  and 
what  is  more  true,  I  know,  for  I  have  seen  it  all  and  lived  it 
all.  'Big  Adam'  is  a  mighty  figure  in  the  procession  of  origi 
nals  that  is  marching  out  of  the  ark  of  American  literature 
to  possess  the  land.  When  I  read  passages  about  'Big 
Adam'  to  Geo.  W.  Cable,  he  shouted:  'Superb!  He  is 
colossal!'" 


THE  STORY  OF  A 
COUNTRY  TOWN 


BY 
E.  W.  HOWE 


WITH    AN    APPRECIATION    BY 

WILLIAM  DEAN  HOWELLS 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 
NEW    YORK     AND     LONDON 


THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

Copyright,  1882,  1884,  1910  by  E.  W.  Howe 

Copyright,  1917,  by  Harper  &  Brothers 

Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 

Published    September,  1917 


,5 

: 


AN    APPRECIATION 

BY   W.    D.   HO  WELLS1 

THE  author  is  Mr.  E.  W.  Howe,  who  is  also  the 
editor  of  an  evening  paper  in  Atchison,  Kansas,  and 
who  printed  and  published  the  first  edition  of  his 
novel  himself.  In  his  preface  he  tells,  with  a  frankness 
that  is  at  once  manly  and  appealing,  how  he  wrote  the 
book  at  night,  after  his  day's  work  on  the  newspaper 
was  done;  but  it  is  with  the  novel,  and  not  with  the 
novelist,  that  we  have  to  do  at  present.  It  is  simply 
what  it  calls  itself,  the  story  of  a  country  town  in  the 
West,  which  has  so  many  features  in  common  with 
country  towns  everywhere,  that  whoever  has  lived  in 
one  must  recognize  the  grim  truth  of  the  picture.  It 
does  not  lack  its  reliefs — which  are  of  a  humorous 
rather  than  a  joyous  sort — but  is  very  grim,  never 
theless,  and  at  times  intolerably  sad.  .  .  . 

It  is  not  in  the  presentation  of  individuals,  however, 
but  rather  in  the  realization  of  a  whole  order  of  things, 
that  the  strength  of  the  book  lies;  and  what  I  most 
admire  in  it  is  the  apparently  unconscious  fearlessness 
with  which  all  the  facts  of  the  case,  good,  bad,  and 
indifferent,  are  recognized.  Neither  this  thing  nor  that 
is  exploited,  but  all  things  are  simply  and  clearly  por 
trayed.  It  is  needless  to  note  that,  having  something 
to  say,  the  author  has  said  it  well;  that  follows.  I 

1  From  an  article  by  W.  D.  Howells,  in  the  Century  Magazine, 
August,  1884.  By  the  courtesy  of  the  Century  Club. 

M76G80 


AN  APPRECIATION 

do  not  care  to  praise  his  style,  though,  as  far  as  that 
increasingly  unimportant  matter  goes,  it  is  well  enough ; 
but  what  I  like  in  him  is  the  sort  of  mere  open  humane 
ness  of  his  book.  .  .  . 

The  book  is  full  of  simple  homeliness,  but  is  never 
vulgar.  It  does  not  flatter  the  West,  nor  paint  its 
rough  and  rude  traits  as  heroic ;  it  perceives  and  states, 
and  the  results  are  perfectly  imaginable  American  con 
ditions,  in  which  no  trait  of  beauty  or  pathos  is  lost. 
There  are  charming  things  in  it.  Youth,  with  its 
ignorance,  its  ardor,  its  hopefulness  and  fearlessness, 
is  more  than  once  finely  studied,  and  amidst  the  pre 
vailing  harshness  and  aridity  there  are  episodes  of 
tenderness  and  self-devotion  that  are  like  springs  of 
water  out  of  the  ground.  It  is  a  fact  so  creditable  to 
the  community  in  which  this  remarkable  novel  was  pro 
duced,  without  any  aids  of  advertising  or  "  favorable 
noticing,"  that  I  cannot  forbear  stating,  at  the  risk 
of  impertinence,  that  its  uncommon  quality  was  at 
once  recognized,  and  the  whole  of  the  first  edition  sold 
there. 


PREFACE. 


SHOUID  "The  Story  of  a  Country  Town"  find  readers, 
it  may  be  interesting  to  them  to  know  that  it  was  written 
entirely  at  night,  after  the  writer  had  finished  a  hard 
day's  work  as  editor  and  publisher  of  a  small  evening 
newspaper.  I  do  not  think  a  line  of  it  was  written  while 
the  sun  was  shining,  but  in  almost  every  chapter  there 
are  recollections  of  the  midnight  bell. 

No  one  can  possibly  find  more  fault  with  it  than  I  have 
found  myself.  A  hundred  times  I  have  been  on  the  point 
of  burning  the  manuscript,  and  never  attempting  it  again ; 
for  I  was  always  tired  while  working  at  it,  and  always 
dissatisfied  after  concluding  an  evening's  work.  I  offer 
this  as  a  general  apology  for  its  many  defects,  and  can 
only  hope  it  will  meet  with  the  charity  it  deserves. 

I  believe  that  when  I  began  the  story  I  had  some  sort 
of  an  idea  that  I  might  be  able  to  write  an  acceptable 
work  of  fiction,  but  I  have  changed  it  so  often,  and  wor 
ried  about  it  so  much,  that  at  its  conclusion  I  have  no 
dea  whether  it  is  very  bad,  or  only  indifferent.  I  think 
that  originally  I  had  some  hope  that  it  might,  enable  me 
to  get  rid  of  my  weary  newspaper  work,  and  help  me  to 
more  ease  than  I  have  ever  known,  but  I  am  so  tired  now 


PEEFACB. 

that  I  am  incapable  of  exercising  my  judgment  with  rel 
erence  to  it.  If  it  prove  a  success  or  a  failure  I  shaL 
not  be  surprised,  for  I  have  no  opinion  of  my  own  on  the 
eubject. 

For  several  years  I  have  felt  that  I  would  like  an 
opportunity  to  address  a  larger  audience  than  my  news 
paper's  circulation  affords,  but  I  find  now  that  I  am  very 
timid  about  it,  and  worry  a  great  deal  for  fear  the  verdict 
will  not  be  favorable.  A  gentleman  who  once  looked 
over  a  portion  of  the  manuscript  said  his  first  impression 
was  that  it  was  the  work  of  a  tired  man,  and  that  the  pen 
seemed  to  drag  heavily  in  making  the  words.  I  fear  this 
will  be  the  verdict  of  the  people,  and  that  they  will  say  I 
should  have  given  up  my  newspaper  writing  before  at 
tempting  it.  The  reason  I  did  not  do  this  was  that  I  had 
no  confidence  in  my  ability  to  become  an  acceptable  his 
torian  of  a  country  town,  therefore  I  worked  harder  than 
I  should  during  the  day,  and  went  wearily  at  the  story  at 
night. 

Should  inquiry  be  made  as  to  whether  any  part  of  tho 
story  be  true,  I  could  only  reply  that  I  have  never  known 
anyone  who  did  not  furnish  some  suggestion  or  idea  in 
the  construction  of  the  book,  as  I  have  never  lived  in  a 
town  that  did  not  afford  some  material  for  the  descrip 
tion  of  Twin  Mounds.  I  meet  Jo  Errings  every  day,  and 
frequently  lead  them  up  to  denounce  their  particular 
Clinton  Bragg;  1  have  known  several  John  Westlocks, 
and  I  am  afraid  that  Mateel  Shepherds  are  more  numer- 
pus  than  is  desirable.  I  have  known  troops  of  Mrs.  Johr, 


PEEFACE. 

Westlocks,  for  in  the  country  where  I  was  brought  up  aU 
the  women  were  pale,  timid,  and  overworked;  I  hope 
that  Agnes  Deming  can  be  duplicated  in  every  cominu« 
nity,  and  I  believe  that  Big  Adams  are  numerous  every 
where  ;  but  I  must  confess  that  I  never  knew  but  one 
Little  Biggs,  though  his  wife  may  be  seen  hurrying  out 
of  the  way,  should  you  decide  to  look  for  her,  in  every 
third  or  fourth  house. 

I  hope  there  will  be  general  sympathy  for  Jo  Erring. 
In  writing  the  history  of  this  creature  of  my  fancy,  I  have 
Almost  come  to  believe  that  I  have  an  uncle  of  that  name, 
And  that  he  lived  and  died  as  I  have  narrated.  Some- 
limes  I  think  of  him  wandering  in  the  cave,  crying, 
4  Help  1  Help !  I  am  lost ! "  and  his  voice  is  very  pitiful 
and  distressed.  At  other  times  he  has  come  into  my  room 
and  sat  beside  me  as  I  wrote.  I  have  been  with  him  to 
the  cave  on  a  stormy  night,  and  heard  the  beginning  of 
the  few  sweet  chords  of  music  he  describes,  but  which 
were  immediately  broken  into  by  the  furious  uproar  of 
devils ;  sometimes  I  think  I  have  found  him.  in  every-day 
life,  and  that  he  is  still  listening  at  night  to  the  horrible 
noise  of  his  skeleton.  If  some  one  should  confess  to  me 
that  he  is  Jo  Erring  in  every  particular  except  that  when 
the  keeper  of  the  Twin  Mounds  jail  gave  him  opportunity 
be  ran  away,  I  believe  I  should  be  his  friend. 

In  our  part  of  the  country  there  was  a  strange  man 
answering  to  the  description  of  Damon  Barker,  and  I 
often  visited  him  when  a  boy,  but  he  lived  in  a  hovel  on 
the  prairio,  which  was  dirty  beyond  description.  He  had 


PREFACE. 

boxes  filled  with  strange  wearing-apparel,  and  brass  pis 
tols  without  number,  and  he  told  me  stories ;  but  he  ran 
a  nursery  instead  of  a  mill,  though  I  have  heard  that  he 
had  a  sister.  I  originally  intended  to  make  these  two 
central  figures  in  the  story,  but  Jo  Erring  wandered  into 
my  mind,  and  I  am  afraid  I  have  made  sa^  work  of  him. 

K.W.  H. 

ITOHE&ON,  KANSAS,  8ept.  4,  IMS. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 

L    FAIBVDCW  .    , 1 

IL    TOE  HELL   QUESTION  AND    THE    REV.  JOHN 

WESTLOCK     ...         13 

IIL    THE  HOUSE  OP  ERRING 23 

IV.    THE  RELIGION  OF  FAIRVIEW 82 

V.    THE  SCHOOL  IN  THE  CHURCH 88 

VI.    DAMON  BARKER 48 

VIL    A  NEW  DISPENSATION 67 

VTIL    THE  SMOKY  HILL  SECRET 69 

IX.    THE  CHARITY  OF  SILENCE 87 

X.    Jo  ERRING  MAKES  A  FULL  CONFESSION    ...  99 
XL    WITH  REFERENCE  TO  A  MAN  WHO  WAS  SENT 
WEST  TO  GROW  UP  WITH  THE  COUNTRY  OB 

GET  KILLED 112 

XTL    LOVE'S  YOUNG  LESSON 123 

XIII.  THE  FLOCK  OF  THE  GOODE  SHEPHERD  ....  134 

XIV.  I  AM  SURPRISED 148 

XV.    THE  COUNTRY  TOWN 154 

XVI.    MORE  OF  THE  VILLAGE  OF  TWIN  MOUNDS    .    .  165 

XVII.    THE  FELLOW 177 

1VTIT     Tmc  MILL  AT  ERRING'S  FORD 18B 


CONTENTS. 

2JX.    TIIF.  FALL  OF  REV.  JOHN  WESTLOCK     .    .    .  90J 

XX.    Two  HEABTS  THAT  BEAT  AS  ONE 212 

XXL    TEE  PECULIARITIES  OF  A  COUNTS r  TOWN     .  228 
XXII.    A  SKELETON    IN   THE   HOUSE   AT  EnBiKti  s 

FOBD « 344 

XXIII.  THE  SHADOW  IN  THE  SMOKY  HILLS   ....  264 

XXIV.  A  LETTEB  ISOM  /o 279 

XXV.    THE  SEA  GIV^S  UP  ITS  DEAD 286 

XXVI.    BACKER'S  STOUT 29f* 

XXVII.    THE  LIGHT  GOE*  OUT  FOBEVKB 809 

XXVIII.    Too  LATE 82C 

XXIX.    THE  SKELETON  AGAIN 337 

XXX.    A  LETTEB  FBOM  MB.  BIGGS        350 

XXXI.    KILLED  AT  THE  FOBD 356 

XXXII.    THE  TWIN  MOUNDS  JAII 368 

XXXIII.  REAPING  THE  WHIBLWINF      . 882 

XXXIV.  THE  GBAVE  BY  THE  PATH 392 

XXXV.    THE  HISTORY  OF  A  MISTA&JP 898 

JCYYVL    COHCLUSIO* .  410 


THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 


THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 


CHAPTER  I. 
FAIBVIEW. 

OURS  was  the  prairie  district  out  West,  where  w* 
had  gone  to  grow  up  with  the  country. 

I  believe  that  nearly  every  farmer  for  miles  around 
moved  to  the  neighborhood  at  the  same  time,  and  that 
my  father's  wagons  headed  the  procession.  I  have  heard 
that  most  of  them  gathered  about  him  on  the  way,  and  as 
he  preached  from  his  wagon  wherever  night  overtook  him, 
and  held  camp-meetings  on  Sundays,  he  attracted  a  fol 
lowing  of  men  travelling  the  same  road  who  did  not  know 
themselves  where  they  were  going,  although  a  few  of  the 
number  started  with  him,  among  them  my  mother's  father 
and  his  family.  When  he  came  to  a  place  that  suited 
him,  he  picked  out  the  land  he  wanted  —  which  any  man 
was  free  to  do  at  that  time  —  and  the  others  settled  about 
him. 

In  the  dusty  tramp  of  civilization  westward  —  which 
geems  to  have  always  been  justified  by  a  tradition  that 
men  grow  up  by  reason  of  it  —  our  section  was  not  a 
favorite,  and  remained  new  and  unsettled  after  counties 
and  States  farther  west  had  grown  old.  Every  one  who 
came  there  seemed  favorably  impressed  with  the  steady 
fertility  of  the  soil,  and  expressed  surprise  that  the  lands 
were  not  all  occupied ;  but  no  one  in  the  great  outside 

1 


2  THE  STORY   OF   A  COUNTRY   TOWS. 

*crld  talked  a)*out  it,  and  no  one  wrote  about  it,  so  thai 
tiioae  viho  were  looking  for  homes  went  to  the  west  01 
jrfie,  north,  Where  others  were  going. 
'  :  There  were  .cbeap  lands  farther  on,  where  the  people 
railed  a  crop  one  year,  and  were  supported  by  charity  the 
next;  where  towns  sprang  up  on  credit,  and  farms  were 
opened  with  borrowed  money;  where  the  people  were 
apparently  content,  for  our  locality  did  not  seem  to  be  far 
enough  west,  nor  far  enough  north,  to  suit  them ;  where 
no  sooner  was  one  stranger's  money  exhausted  than 
another  arrived  to  take  his  place ;  where  men  mortgaged 
their  possessions  at  full  value,  and  thought  themselves 
rich,  notwithstanding,  so  great  was  their  faith  in  the 
country ;  where  he  who  was  deepest  in  debt  was  the 
leading  citizen,  and  where  bankruptcy  caught  them  all 
at  last.  On  these  lands  the  dusty  travellers  settled, 
where  there  were  churches,  school-houses,  and  bridges  — 
but  little  rain  —  and  railroads  to  carry  out  the  crops 
should  any  be  raised ;  and  when  any  one  stopped  in  our 
neighborhood,  he  was  too  poor  and  tired  to  follow  the 
others. 

I  became  early  impressed  with  the  fact  that  our  people 
seemed  to  be  miserable  and  discontented,  and  frequently 
wondered  that  tney  did  not  load  their  effects  on  wagons 
again,  and  move  away  from  a  place  which  made  all  the 
men  surly  and  rough,  and  the  women  pale  and  fretful. 
Although  I  had  never  been  to  the  country  they  had  left, 
except  as  a  baby  in  arms,  I  was  unfavorably  impressed 
with  it,  thinking  it  must  have  been  a  very  poor  one  that 
such  a  lot  of  people  left  it  and  considered  their  condition 
bettered  by  the  change,  for  they  never  talked  of  going 
back,  and  were  therefore  probably  better  satisfied  than 
they  had  ever  been  before.  A  road  ran  by  our  house,  ana 
when  I  first  began  to  think  about  it  at  all,  I  thought  thai 


FAIRVIEW  CHURCH.  3 

the  covered  wagons  travelling  it  carried  people  moving 
from  the  country  from  which  those  in  our  neighborhood 
came,  arid  the  wagons  were  so  numerous  that  I  was  led  to 
believe  that  at  least  half  the  people  of  the  world  had  tried 
to  live  there,  and  moved  away  after  an  unfortunate 
experience. 

On  the  highest  and  bleakest  point  in  the  county,  where 
the  winds  were  plenty  in  winter  because  they  were  not 
needed,  and  scarce  in  summer  for  an  opposite  reason,  the 
meeting-house  was  built,  in  a  corner  of  my  father's  field. 
This  was  called  Fairview,  and  so  the  neighborhood  virai 
known.  There  was  a  graveyard  around  it,  and  cornfieldi 
next  to  that,  but  not  a  tree  or  shrub  attempted  its  orna 
ment,  and  as  the  building  stood  on  the  main  road  where 
the  movers'  wagons  passed,  I  thought  that,  next  to  their 
ambition  to  get  away  from  the  country  which  had  been 
left  by  those  in  Fairview,  the  movers  were  anxious  to  get 
away  from  Fairview  church,  and  avoid  the  possibility  of 
being  buried  in  its  ugly  shadow,  for  they  always  see  med 
to  drive  faster  after  passing  it. 

High  up  in  a  steeple  which  rocked  with  every  wind  was 
a  great  bell,  the  gift  of  a  missionary  society,  and  when 
there  was  a  storm  this  tolled  with  fitful  and  uncertain 
strokes,  as  if  the  ghosts  from  the  grave  lot  had  crawled  up 
there,  and  were  counting  the  number  to  be  buried  the 
coming  year,  keeping  the  people  awake  for  miles  around. 
Sometimes,  when  the  wind  was  particularly  high,  there 
were  a  great  number  of  strokes  on  the  bell  in  quick  enc- 
cession,  which  the  pious  said  was  an  alarm  to  the  wicked, 
sounded  by  the  devil,  a  warning  relating  to  the  conflagra 
tion  which  could  never  be  put  out,  else  Fairview  would 
aev3r  have  been  built. 

When  any  one  died  it  was  the  custom  to  toll  the  bell 
for  every  year  of  the  deceased's  age,  and  as  deathi 


I  THE  STORY   OF  A  COUNTHY   TOWN. 

usually  occur  at  night,  we  were  frequently  wakened  f  rcza 
ileep  by  its  deep  and  solemn  tones.  When  I  was  yet  a 
very  little  boy  I  occasionally  went  with  my  father  to  toll 
the  bell  when  news  came  that  some  one  was  dead,  for  we 
lived  nearer  the  place  than  any  of  the  others,  and  when 
the  strokes  ran  up  to  forty  and  fifty  it  was  very  dreary 
work,  and  I  sat  alone  in  the  church  wondering  who  would 
ring  for  me,  and  how  many  strokes  could  be  counted  by 
those  who  were  shivering  at  home  in  their  beds. 

The  house  was  built  the  first  year  of  the  settlement,  and 
the  understanding  was  that  my  father  contributed  the 
little  money  necessary,  and  superintended  the  work,  in 
which  he  was  assisted  by  any  one  who  volunteered  his 
labor.  It  was  his  original  intention  to  build  it  alone,  and 
the  little  help  he  received  only  irritated  him,  as  it  was 
not  worth  the  boast  that  he  had  raised  a  temple  to  the 
Lord  single-handed.  All  the  carpenter's  work,  and  all 
the  plasterer's  work,  he  performed  without  assistance  ex 
cept  from  members  of  his  own  household,  but  I  believe 
the  people  turned  out  to  the  raising,  and  helped  put  up 
the  frames. 

Regularly  after  its  completion  he  occupied  the  rough 
pulpit  (which  he  built  with  especial  reference  to  his  own 
size),  and  every  Lord's  Day  morning  and  evening  preached 
a  religion  to  the  people  which  I  think  added  to  their  other 
discomforts,  for  it  was  hard  and  unforgiving.  There  were 
two  or  three  kinds  of  Baptists  among  the  people  of  Fair- 
new  when  the  house  was  completed,  and  a  few  Presby 
terians,  but  they  all  became  Methodists  without  revolt  or 
question  when  my  father  announced  in  his  first  preaching 
that  Fair  view  would  be  of  that  denomination. 

He  did  not  solicit  them  to  join  him,  though  he  probably 
intimated  in  a  way  which  admitted  of  no  discussion  that 
the  few  heretics  yet  remaining  o'At  in  the  world  had  bettei 


I   AM.  5 

gave  themselveh  before  it  wai  too  late.  It  did  not  seem 
to  occur  to  him  that  men  and  women  who  had  grown  up 
in  a  certain  faith  renounced  it  with  difficulty;  it  was 
enough  that  they  were  wrong,  and  that  he  was  forgiving 
enough  to  throw  open  the  doors  of  the  accepted  church, 
if  the/  were  humiliated,  he  was  glad  of  it,  for  that  wa» 
necessary  to  condone  their  transgression;  if  they  had 
arguments  to  excuse  it,  he  did  not  care  to  hear  them,  as 
he  had  taken  God  into  partnership,  and  built  Fairview, 
Mid  people  who  worshipped  there  would  be  expected  to 
throw  aside  all  doctrinal  nonsense. 

.  .  •  *  • 

As  I  shall  have  something  to  do  with  this  narrative, 
there  may  be  a  curiosity  on  the  part  of  the  reader  to 
know  who  I  am.  I  state,  then,  that  I  am  the  only  son  of 
the  Rev.  John  Westlock  —  and  the  only  child,  unless  a 
little  girl  born  a  year  before  me,  and  whom  I  have  heard 
my  mother  speak  of  tenderly  as  pretty  and  blue-eyed,  is 
to  be  called  up  from  her  grave  and  counted  ;  and  I  have 
the  best  of  reason  for  believing  (the  evidence  being  my 
father's  word,  a  man  whose  integrity  was  never  doubted) 
that  he  moved  to  the  place  where  my  recollection  begins, 
to  do  good  and  grow  up  with  the  country.  Whether  my 
father  remarked  it  in  my  presence  —  he  seldom  said  any 
thing  to  me  —  I  do  not  now  remember,  but  I  believe  to 
this  day,  in  the  absence  of  anything  to  the  contrary,  that 
the  circuit  he  rode  in  the  country  which  he  had  left  wag 
poor,  and  paid  him  but  rarely  for  his  services,  which 
induced  him  to  quit  preaching  as  a  business,  and  resolve 
to  evangelize  in  the  West  on  his  own  account,  at  the 
game  time  putting  himself  in  the  way  of  growing  up  with 
the  country,  an  idea  probably  new  at  that  time,  and  very 
•ignificant. 

In  the  great  Bible  which  was  always  lying  open  on  a 


5  THE  STORY  OF   A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

table  in  our  house,  between  the  Old  and  the  New  Test*, 
inent,  my  name  and  the  date  of  my  birth  were  recorded  in 
bold  handwriting,  immediately  following  the  information 
that  Helen  Elizabeth  Westlock  arrived  by  the  mercy  oi 
God  on  the  19th  of  July,  and  departed  in  like  manner  on 
the  3d  of  April ;  and  I  did  not  know,  until  I  was  old 
enough  to  read  for  myself,  that  I  had  been  christened 
Abram  Nedrow  Westlock,  as  I  had  always  been  called 
Ned,  and  had  often  wondered  if  any  of  the  prophets  were 
of  that  name,  for  my  father,  and  my  mother,  and  my 
!  9  Jo  (my  mother's  only  brother,  who  had  lived  at  OUT 
most  of  his  life),  and  my  grandmother,  and  my 
grandfather,  were  all  named  for  some  of  the  people  I  had 
heard  referred  to  when  the  big  Bible  was  read.  But 
when  I  found  Abram  before  the  Nedrow,  I  knew  that  I 
had  not  been  neglected.  This  discovery  caused  me  to 
ask  my  mother  so  many  questions  that  I  learned  in  addi 
tion  that  the  Nedrow  part  of  the  name  referred  to  a 
preacher  of  my  father's  denomination,  and  not  to  a 
prophet,  and  that  my  father  admired  him  and  named  me 
for  him  because  he  had  once  preached  all  day  at  a  camp- 
meeting,  and  then  spent  most  of  the  following  night  in 
prayer.  I  therefore  concluded  that  it  was  intended  that 
I  should  be  pious,  and  early  began  to  search  the  Scriptures 
for  the  name  of  Abram,  that  I  might  know  in  what  man 
ner  he  had  distinguished  himself. 

The  first  thing  I  can  remember,  and  this  only  indis 
tinctly,  was  connected  with  the  removal  of  our  effect! 
from  an  old  house  to  a  new  one,  and  that  the  book  on 
which  I  usually  sat  at  the  table  was  mislaid  during  tne 
day,  which  made  it  necessary  for  me  to  stand  during  the 
progress  of  the  evening  meal.  I  began  to  cry  when  this 
announcement  was  made,  whereupon  my  father  said  in  a 
itern  way  that  I  was  now  too  old  to  cry,  and  that  I 


MY  BERTH.  7 

never  (To  it  again.  I  remarked  it  that  day,  il  I  never  did 
before,  that  he  was  a  large,  fierce-looking  man,  whom  it 
would  likely  be  dangerous  to  trifle  with,  and  that  a  full 
set  of  black  whiskers,  and  a  blacker  frown,  completely 
covered  his  face ;  from  that  time  I  began  to  remember 
events,  and  they  will  appear  as  this  narrative  progresses. 

Of  my  youth  before  this  time  I  have  little  knowledge 
except  that  my  mother  said  once  in  my  presence  that  I 
was  a  very  pretty  baby,  but  that  I  had  now  got  bravely 
over  it,  and  that  as  a  child  I  was  known  in  all  the  country 
round  as  a  great  baby  to  cry,  being  possessed  of  a  stout 
pair  of  lungs,  which  I  used  on  the  slightest  occasion. 
This,  coupled  with  an  observation  from  my  uncle  Jo  that 
when  he  first  saw  me,  an  hour  or  two  after  birth,  I  looked 
like  a  fish-worm,  was  all  I  could  find  out  about  my  earlier 
history,  and  the  investigation  was  so  unsatisfactory  that  I 
gave  it  up. 

Once  I  heard  my  father  say,  when  he  was  in  a  good 
humor,  that  when  the  nurse  employed  for  my  arrival 
announced  that  I  was  a  boy,  my  mother  cried  hysterically 
for  half  an  hour,  as  she  desired  a  blue-eyed  girl  to  replace 
the  one  she  had  buried,  and  when  I  heard  my  mother  tell 
a  few  weeks  afterwards,  in  a  burst  of  confidence,  to  a  num 
ber  of  women  who  happened  to  be  there,  that  my  father 
stormed  for  an  hour  because  I  was  born  at  all,  I  concluded 
that  I  had  never  been  very  welcome,  and  regretted  that  I 
had  ever  come  into  the  world.  They  both  wanted  a  girl 
—  when  the  event  was  inevitable  —  to  help  about  the 
house,  as  Jo  was  thought  to  be  all  the  help  necessary  in 
the  field,  and  in  the  earlier  days  of  my  life  I  remember 
feeling  that  1  was  out  of  place  because  I  did  not  wear 
dresses,  and  wash  dishes,  thus  saving  the  pittance  paid  a 
farmer's  daughter  during  the  busy  season. 

The  only  remarkable  thing  I  ever  did  in  my  life  —  I  may 


8  THE  STORY  OF  A   COUNTRY  'IOWA. 

AA  well  mention  it  here,  and  be  rid  of  it  —  was  to  learn  tc 
read  letters  when  I  was  live  years  old,  and  as  the  ability 
to  read  even  print  was  by  no  means  a  common  accom 
plishment  in  Fairview,  this  circumstance  gave  me  great 
notoriety.  I  no  doubt  learned  to  read  from  curiosity  ag 
to  what  the  books  and  papers  scattered  about  were  for,  as 
nc  one  took  the  pains  to  teach  me,  for  I  remember  that 
they  were  all  greatly  surprised  when  I  began  to  spell 
words,  and  pronounce  them,  and  I  am  certain  I  was  never 
encouraged  in  it. 

It  was  the  custom  when  my  father  went  to  the  nearest 
post-office  to  bring  back  with  him  the  mail  of  the  entire 
neighborhood,  and  it  was  my  business  to  deliver  the  letters 
and  papers  at  the  different  houses.  If  I  carried  letters,  I  was 
requested  to  read  them,  and  the  surprise  which  I  created  IE 
this  direction  was  so  pronounced  that  it  was  generally  said 
that  in  time  I  should  certainly  become  a  great  man,  and 
be  invited  to  teach  school.  If  I  came  to  a  word  which  I 
did  not  understand  I  invented  one  to  take  its  place,  or  an 
entire  sentence,  for  but  few  of  the  people  could  read  thf 
letters  themselves,  and  never  detected  the  deception. 
This  occupation  gave  me  my  first  impression  of  the  coun 
try  where  the  people  had  lived  before  they  came  to  Fair- 
view,  and  as  there  was  much  in  the  letters  of  hard  work 
and  pinching  poverty,  I  believed  that  the  writers  lived  in 
a  heavily  timbered  country,  where  it  was  necessary  to  dig 
up  trees  to  get  room  for  planting.  Another  thing  I  no 
ticed  was  that  they  all  seemed  to  be  dissatisfied  and  anx 
ious  to  get  away,  and  when  in  course  of  time  I  began  to 
write  answers  to  the  letters  I  was  surprised  to  learn  that 
the  people  of  Fairview  were  satisfied,  and  that  they  were 
well  pleased  with  the  change. 

I  had  never  thought  this  before,  for  they  all  seemed  ai 
miserable  as  was  possible,  and  wondered  about  it  a  great 


MY   EARLY  OCCUPATIONS.  9 

deal.  This  gave  me  fresh  reason  for  believing  *Ljit  tbf 
country  which  our  people  had  left  was  a  very  unfavored 
one,  and  when  I  saw  the  wagons  in  the  road  I  thought 
that  at  last  the  writers  of  the  fetters  I  had  been  reading 
had  arrived  and  would  settle  on  some  of  the  groat  tracts  of 
prairie  which  could  be  seen  in  every  direction,  lut  they 
turned  the  bend  in  the  road  and  went  on  as  if  a  look  at 
Fairview  had  frightened  them,  and  they  were  going  back 
another  way. 

It  seems  to  me  now  that  between  the  time  I  began  to 
remember  and  the  time  I  went  out  with  my  father  and 
Jo  to  work,  or  went  alone  through  the  field  to  attend 
the  school  in  the  church,  about  a  year  elapsed,  and  that 
I  was  very  much  alone  during  the  interval,  for  ours 
was  a  busy  family,  and  none  of  them  had  time  to  look 
after  me.  My  father  and  Jo  went  to  the  fields,  or  awaj 
with  the  teams,  at  a  very  early  hour  in  the  morning,  am 
usually  did  not  return  until  night,  and  my  mother  was 
always  busy  about  the  house,  so  that  if  I  kept  out  of 
mischief  no  more  was  expected  of  me.  I  think  it  was 
during  this  year  (it  may  have  been  two  years,  but  cer 
tainly  not  a  longer  period)  that  I  learned  to  read,  for  I 
had  nothing  else  to  do  and  no  companions,  and  from  look 
ing  at  the  pictures  in  the  books  I  began  to  wonder  what 
the  little  characters  surrounding  them  meant. 

In  this  I  was  assisted  by  Jo,  who  seemed  to  know  every 
thing,  and  by  slow  degrees  I  put  the  letters  together  to 
make  words,  and  understood  them.  Sometimes  in  the 
middle  of  the  day  I  slipped  out  into  the  field  to  ask  him 
the  meaning  of  something  mysterious  I  bad  encountered, 
and  although  he  would  good-naturedly  inform  me,  I  no 
ticed  that  he  and  my  father  worked  without  speaking,  and 
that  I  seemed  to  be  an  annoyance,  so  I  scampered  back  t* 
my  loneliness  again. 


10  THE  STORY   OF  A   COUNTRY   TOWN 

Daring  this  time,  too,  I  first  noticed  that  my  father  wai 
not  like  other  men  who  came  to  our  house,  for  he  wa§ 
always  grave  and  quiet,  and  had  little  to  say  at  any  time 
it  was  a  relief  to  me  to  hear  him  ask  blessings  at  the  table. 
and  pray  morning  and  evening,  for  I  seldom  heard  hii 
roiee  at  any  other  time.  I  believe  I  regarded  his  quieV 
manner  only  as  an  evidence  that  he  was  more  pious  than 
others  of  his  class,  for  I  could  make  nothing  else  out  of  it, 
bat  often  regretted  that  his  religion  did  not  permit  him  to 
notice  me  more,  or  to  take  me  with  him  when  he  went 
away  in  the  wagon.  Once  I  asked  my  mother  why  he 
was  always  so  stern  and  silent,  and  if  it  was  because  we 
had  offended  him,  to  which  she  replied  all  in  a  tremble 
that  she  did  not  know  herself,  and  I  thought  that  shi 
studied  a  great  deal  about  him,  too.  My  mother  was  ag 
timid  in  his  presence  as  I  was,  and  during  the  day,  if  I 
came  upon  her  suddenly,  she  looked  frightened,  thinking 
it  was  he,  but  when  she  found  it  was  not,  her  composure 
returned  again.  Neither  of  us  had  reason  to  be  afraid  of 
him,  I  am  certain  of  that,  but  as  we  never  seemed  able  to 
please  him  (though  he  never  said  so),  we  were  in  constant 
dread  of  displeasing  him  more  than  ever,  or  of  causing  him 
to  become  more  silent  and  dissatisfied,  and  to  give  up  the 
§hort  prayers  in  which  we  were  graciously  mentioned  for 
a  blessing. 

The  house  where  we  lived,  and  into  which  we  moved 
on  the  day  when  my  recollection  begins,  was  the  largest 
in  the  settlement;  a  square  house  of  two  stories,  painted 
10  white  that  after  night  it  looked  like  a  ghost.  It  wai 
built  on  lower  ground  than  Fairview  church,  though  the 
location  was  sightly,  and  not  far  away  ran  a  stream  fringed 
with  thickets  of  brush,  where  I  found  the  panting  cattk 
Mid  sheep  on  hot  days,  and  thought  they  gave  me  more 
»f  a  welcome  than  my  father  and  Jo  did  in  the  field ;  foi 


RETROSPECTION.  11 

lh«y  were  not  Dusy,  but  idle  like  me,  and  1  hoped  it  wai 
rather  a  relief  to  them  to  look  at  me  in  mild-eyed  wonder. 

Beyond  the  little  stream  and  the  pasture  was  the  great 
dusty  road,  and  in  my  loneliness  I  often  sat  on  the  high 
fence  beside  it  to  watch  for  the  coming  of  the  movers* 
wagons,  and  to  look  curiously  at  those  stowed  away  under 
the  cover  bows,  tumbled  together  with  luggage  and  effect! 
of  every  kind.  If  one  of  the  drivers  asked  me  how  far  it 
was  to  the  country  town  I  supposed  he  had  heard  of  my 
wonderful  learning,  and  took  great  pains  to  describe  the 
road,  as  I  had  heard  my  father  do  a  hundred  times  in 
response  to  similar  inquiries  from  movers.  Sometimes  I 
climbed  up  to  the  driver's  seat,  and  drove  with  him  out 
to  the  prairie,  and  I  always  noticed  that  the  women  and 
children  riding  behind  were  poorly  dressed,  and  tired 
looking,  and  I  wondered  if  only  the  unfortunate  travelled 
our  way,  for  only  that  kind  of  people  lived  in  Fairview. 
and  I  had  never  seen  any  other  kind  in  the  road. 

When  I  think  of  the  years  I  lived  in  Fairview,  I  im 
agine  that  the  sun  was  never  bright  there  (although  I  am 
certain  that  it  was),  and  I  cannot  relieve  my  mind  of  the 
impression  that  the  cold,  changing  shadow  of  the  gray 
church  has  spread  during  my  long  absence  and  enveloped 
all  the  houses  where  the  people  lived.  When  I  see  Fair- 
view  in  my  fancy  now,  it  is  always  from  a  high  place,  and 
looking  down  upon  it  the  shadow  is  denser  around  the 
house  where  I  lived  than  anywhere  else,  so  that  I  feel 
to  this  day  that  should  I  visit  it,  and  receive  permission 
from  the  new  owners  to  walk  through  the  rooms,  I  should 
find  the  walls  damp  and  mouldy  because  the  bright  sun 
•nd  the  free  air  of  Heaven  had  deserted  them  aa  a  euraa 


CHAPTER   n. 

THE  HELL  QUESTION,  AND  THE  REV.  JOHN  WESTLOOL 

\  yf~Y  father's  religion  would  have  been  unsatisfactory 
i\-L  without  a  hell. 

It  was  a  part  of  his  hope  of  the  future  that  worldly  men 
who  scoffed  at  his  piety  would  be  punished,  and  this  wag 
as  much  a  part  of  his  expectation  as  that  those  who  were 
faithful  to  the  end  would  be  rewarded.  Everybody  saved, 
to  my  father's  thinking,  was  as  bad  as  nobody  saved,  and 
in  his  well-patronized  Bible  not  a  passage  for  pleasurable 
contemplation  which  intimated  universal  salvation  was 
marked,  if  such  exists. 

The  sacrifices  he  made  for  religion  were  tasks,  and  his 
reward  was  a  conviction  that  those  who  refused  to  make 
them  would  be  punished,  for  he  regarded  it  as  an  injustice 
of  which  the  Creator  was  incapable  to  do  as  well  by  His 
enemies  as  by  His  friends.  I  believe  that  he  would  rather 
have  gone  to  heaven  without  the  members  of  his  family 
than  with  them,  unless  they  had  earned  salvation  as  he  had 
earned  it,  and  travelled  as  steadily  as  himself  the  hard  road 
marked  on  his  map  as  leading  heavenward. 

One  of  the  best  evidences  to  his  mind  of  a  compas 
lionate  and  loving  Saviour  was  the  belief  that  all  thought 
&f  unfortunate  friends  in  torment  was  blotted  from  the 
memory  of  the  redeemed,  and  the  lake  of  fire  he  thought 
of  as  a  remedy  for  the  great  number  of  disagreeable  peo 
ple  with  whom  he  was  compelled  to  come  in  contact 
12 


PIETY  AND  THRIFT.  II 

oelow,  and  of  whom  he  would  be  nappily  rid  above. 
Religion  was  a  misery  to  be  endured  on  earth,  that  a 
reward  might  be  enjoyed  after  death.  A  man  must  spe»id 
the  ages  of  his  future  either  in  a  very  pleasant  place,  with 
Eomfortable  surroundings  and  pleasant  associates,  or  in  a 
very  unpleasant  place,  with  uncomfortable  surroundings 
and  all  the  mean  people  turned  into  devils  and  imps  for 
companions.  It  was  the  inevitable  law;  every  man  oi 
moderate  sense  should  be  able  to  appreciate  the  situation 
at  a  glance,  and  do  that  which  would  insure  his  personal 
safety.  If  there  was  a  doubt  —  the  thought  was  too 
absurd  for  his  contemplation,  but  admitting  a  doubt  —  his 
future  would  be  equal  to  that  of  the  worldly  man,  for  one 
cannot  rot  more  easily  than  another,  or  be  more  comfort 
able  as  dust;  but  if  there  was  no  doubt  —  and  all  the 
authorities  agree  that  there  was  none  —  then  the  difference 
would  be  in  his  favor. 

It  was  the  best  thing  offering  under  the  circumstances, 
and  should  therefore  be  accepted  without  hesitation.  If  the 
conditions  were  hard,  he  could  not  help  it ;  he  might  have 
suggested  changes  in  the  plan  of  salvation  had  his  judg 
ment  been  invited,  but  the  plan  had  been  formulated 
before  his  time,  and  there  was  nothing  left  for  him  but 
obedience.  If  he  thought  he  deserved  credit  for  all  he 
possessed  (and  he  was  a  man  very  likely  to  be  seized  with 
that  suspicion),  the  Bible  said  it  came  from  God;  that 
lettled  the  matter  finally  and  forever  —  he  gave  thanka 
(for  a  punishment  was  provided  if  he  did  not,  and  a 
reward  if  he  did),  and  pretended  to  have  had  nothing  in 
do  with  accumulating  his  property. 

Religion  was  a  matter  of  thrift  and  self-interest  as 
ranch  as  laying  away  money  in  youth  and  strength  for  old 
*ge  and  helplessness,  and  he  called  upon  sinners  to  flee 
y&e  wrath  to  come  because  he  had  been  commanded  to  gc 


14  THE  STORY   OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

out  and  preach  to  all  the  world,  for  it  mattered  little  tc 
him  whether  the  people  were  saved  or  not.  They  had 
eyes,  therefore  let  them  gee  ;  ears,  therefore  let  them  hear. 
The  danger  was  so  plain  that  they  ought  to  save  them* 
selves  without  solicitation. 

That  which  he  most  desired  seldom  came  to  pass ;  that 
which  he  dreaded,  frequently,  but  no  matter;  he  gav« 
thanks  to  the  Lord  because  it  was  best  to  do  so,  and  asked 
no  questions.  There  were  jewels  for  those  who  earned 
them,  and  as  a  thrifty  man  he  desired  a  greater  number 
of  these  than  any  other  citizen  of  Fairview.  He  was  the 
principal  man  in  his  neighborhood  below,  and  desired  to 
be  a  shepherd  rather  than  a  sheep  above;  therefore  he 
was  foremost  in  the  church,  and  allowed  no  one  to  be 
more  zealous  in  doing  the  service  of  the  hard  master  he  had, 
after  careful  thought  and  study,  set  out  to  serve,  believing 
the  reward  worth  the  service,  and  determined  to  serve 
weL  if  he  served  at  all,  as  was  his  custom  in  everything 
else. 

If  I  do  him  an  injustice  I  do  not  intend  it,  but  I  have 
thought  all  my  life  that  he  regarded  children  as  trouble 
some  and  expensive  —  a  practical  sort  of  punishment  for 
sin,  sent  from  time  to  time  as  the  case  seemed  to  require ; 
and  that  he  had  been  burdened  with  but  two  was  no  doubt 
evidence  to  his  mind  that  his  life  had  been  generally  blame 
less,  if,  indeed,  this  opinion  was  not  confirmed  by  the  cir. 
cumstance  that  one  of  them  had  been  taken  from  him  in 
return  for  good  service  in  the  holy  cause.  Once  they 
had  arrived,  however,  he  accepted  the  trust  to  return  them 
to  their  Maker  as  nearly  like  they  came  as  possible,  for 
that  was  commanded  of  him. 

Because  he  frequently  referred  to  the  road  to  heaven  aa 
narrow  and  difficult,  and  the  highway  in  the  other  direo 
tion  as  broad  and  easy,  I  came  to  believe  that  but  for  hit 


RELIGION  A  DUTi.  14 

religion  he  would  have  been  a  man  much  given  to  money* 
getting,  and  ambitious  for  distinction,  but  he  put  suob 
thoughts  aside,  and  toiled  away  at  his  work  as  if  to  get 
out  of  temptation's  way.  When  he  talked  of  the  broad 
and  easy  road  it  was  with  a  relish,  as  though  he  could 
enjoy  the  pleasant  places  by  the  way-side  if  he  dared ; 
and  in  his  preaching  I  think  he  described  the  pleasures  of 
the  world  so  vividly  that  his  hearers  were  taken  with  a 
wish  to  enjoy  them,  though  it  is  not  probable  that  he 
knew  anything  about  them  except  from  hearsay,  as  he  had 
always  been  out  of  temptation's  way  —  in  the  backwoods 
during  his  boyhood,  and  on  the  prairie  during  his  maturer 
years.  But  when  he  talked  of  the  narrow  and  difficult 
path,  his  manner  changed  at  once  ;  a  frown  came  upon  his 
face ;  he  looked  determined  and  unforgiving,  and  at  every 
poiut  he  seemed  to  build  sign-posts  marked  "  Duty  !  "  It 
has  occurred  to  me  since  that  he  thought  of  his  religion  as 
a  vigorous,  healthy,  successful  man  thinks  in  his  quiet 
moments  of  a  wife  sick  since  their  marriage ;  although  he 
may  deserve  a  different  fate,  and  desire  it,  he  dares  not 
complain,  for  the  more  wearisome  the  invalid,  the  louder 
the  call  of  duty. 

I  think  he  disliked  the  necessity  of  being  religious,  and 
only  accepted  and  taught  religion  because  he  believed  it 
to  be  the  best  thing  to  do,  for  it  did  not  afford  him  the 
peace  he  professed.  To  all  appearances  he  was  a  most 
miserable  man,  although  he  taught  that  only  the  sinful  are 
miserable,  and  the  few  acquaintances  he  had  who  were 
Dot  equally  devout  (strangers  passing  through,  or  those 
be  met  at  the  country  town,  for  all  were  pioas  in  Fair- 
new)  lived  an  easy  and  contented  life  which  he  seemed 
to  covet,  but  nobody  knew  it,  for  he  reproved  them  with 
ill  the  more  vigor  because  of  his  envy. 

When  not  engaged  in  reading  at  night,  as  wag  his  cu» 


16  THE  STORY  OF    A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

torn,  lie  sat  for  hours  looking  steadily  into  the  fire,  and 
was  impatient  if  disturbed.  I  never  knew  what  occupied 
his  thoughts  at  these  times ;  it  may  have  been  his  preach 
ing,  or  his  daily  work,  but  more  likely  he  was  seeing 
glimpses  of  forbidden  pictures ;  caravans  of  coveted  things 
passing  in  procession,  or  of  hopes  and  ambitions  dwarfed 
by  duty.  Perhaps  in  fancy  he  was  out  in  the  world 
mingling  with  people  of  a  class  more  to  his  taste  than 
Fairview  afforded,  and  was  thinking  he  could  enjoy  their 
pleasures  and  occupations  if  they  were  not  forbidden,  or 
wondering  if,  after  all,  his  principles  were  not  mistakes. 
I  believe  that  during  these  hours  of  silent  thinking  he  was 
tempted  and  beckoned  by  the  invisible  and  mysteriously 
potent  forces  he  pretended  to  despise,  and  that  he  was 
convinced  that,  to  push  them  off,  his  religion  must  be  made 
more  rigorous  and  pitiless. 

TJiat  he  coveted  riches  could  be  easily  seen,  and  but  foi 
his  fear  of  conscience  he  could  have  easily  possessed  him 
self  of  everything  worth  owning  in  Fairview,  for  with  the 
exception  of  Theodore  Meek,  the  next  best  man  in  the 
neighborhood,  he  was  about  the  only  one  among  the  peo 
ple  who  read  books  and  subscribed  for  newspapers.  None 
of  them  was  his  equal  in  intelligence  or  energy,  and  had 
he  desired  he  could  have  traded  them  out  of  what  little 
they  possessed,  and  sold  it  back  again  at  a  comfortable 
profit.  But,  "  do  unto  others  as  you  would  have  others 
do  untc  you,"  *fas  commanded  of  him  by  his  inexorable 
master,  and  he  was  called  upon  to  help  the  weak  rather 
than  rob  them ;  therefore  he  often  gave  them  assistance 
which  he  could  but  poorly  afford.  This  limited  him  so 
much  that  he  had  no  other  hope  of  becoming  well-to-do 
than  that  the  lands  which  he  was  constantly  buying  would 
finally  become  valuable  by  reason  of  the  development  and 
vettlemcnt  of  the  country.  This  he  regarded  as  honorable 


MY  FATHER'S  SONGS.  11 

tod  fair,  and  to  this  work  he  applied  himself  with  great 
energy. 

1  heard  little  of  his  father,  except  that  he  was  note} 
where  he  lived  as  a  man  of  large  family,  who  provided 
them  all  with  warm  clothes  in  winter  and  plenty  to  eat 
all  the  year  round.  His  early  history  was  probably  as  un 
important  and  eventless  as  my  own.  He  seldom  mentions] 
his  father  to  any  one,  except  in  connection  with  a  story 
which  he  occasionally  told,  that  once,  when  his  house  was 
on  fire,  he  called  so  loud  for  help  that  he  was  heard  a  mile. 
Evidently  the  son  succeeded  to  this  extraordinary  pair  of 
lungs,  for  he  sang  the  religious  songs  common  in  that  day 
with  such  excellence  that  no  man  attempted  to  equal  him. 
While  his  singing  was  strong  and  loud,  it  was  melodious, 
and  he  had  as  great  a  reputation  for  that  as  for  piety  and 
thrift.  His  was  a  camp-meeting  voice,  though  he  occa 
sionally  sang  songs  of  little  children,  as  "Moses  in  the 
Bulrushes,"  of  which  there  were  thirty-eight  verses,  and 
the  cradle  song  commencing,  "Hush,  my  dear,  lie  still 
and  slumber,"  written  by  a  noted  hymn-writer,  otherwise 
my  father  would  not  have  patronized  him.  Besides  a 
thorough  familiarity  with  all  the  common,  long,  short, 
and  particular  metres,  he  had  a  collection  of  religious 
songs  preserved  in  a  leather-bound  book,  the  notes  being 
written  in  buckwheat  characters  on  blue  paper  fast  turn 
ing  yellow  with  age,  and  the  words  on  the  opposite  page. 
Feeling  the  necessity  of  a  knowledge  of  notes  once,  he 
had  learned  the  art  in  a  few  weeks,  in  his  usual  vigorous 
way,  and  sang  at  sight ;  and  after  that  he  preserved  his 
old  songs,  and  all  the  new  ones  he  fancied,  in  the  book  I 
have  mentioned.  The  songs  to  which  I  refer  I  have  nevei 
seen  in  print,  and  he  sang  them  on  special  occasions,  as  at 
a  camp-meeting  when  a  tiresome  preacher  had  allowed  the 
interest  to  flag.  "Behold  Paul  a  Prisoner,"  a  complete 


18  THE  STORY  OP  A  COUNTRY  TO^N. 

history  of  the  Apostle  requiring  almost  an  afternoon  IB 
its  performance,  or  "  Christ  in  the  Garden,"  nearly  as  long, 
never  failed  to  start  the  interest  anew  in  an  emergency, 
and  if  the  case  were  very  desperate,  he  called  the  mem 
bers  of  his  family  into  the  pulpit,  and  gang  a  quartet 
called  "The  Glorious  Eighth  of  April,"  asing  for  the 
words  the  first  hymn  in  the  book. 

This  was  usually  sufficient  to  start  some  one  to  shout 
ing,  and  after  a  short  prayer  he  preached  as  vigorously 
and  loudly  as  he  sang,  and  with  an  equally  good  effect. 

Of  bis  brothers  and  sisters,  although  he  had  a  great 
number,  he  seldom  talked,  and  I  scarcely  knew  the  names 
of  the  States  in  which  they  lived,  as  they  were  scattered 
in  every  direction.  I  had  heard  him  mention  a  Samuel,  a 
Joseph,  a  Jacob,  an  Elias,  a  Rebecca,  a  Sarah,  a  Rachel, 
and  an  Elizabeth,  from  which  I  came  to  believe  that  my 
grandfather  was  a  religious  man  (his  own  name  was  Amos), 
and  I  once  heard  that  his  children  on  Sundays  carried 
their  shoes  to  the  brook  near  the  meeting-house  before 
putting  them  on,  that  they  might  last  the  longer,  which 
confirmed  the  belief  that  there  had  been  religion  in  his 
family  as  there  was  in  ours. 

Of  his  mother  he  said  nothing  at  all,  and  if  they  had 
neighbors  he  never  mentioned  them.  In  short,  he  did  not 
seem  proud  of  his  family,  which  caused  us  to  wonder  why 
he  was  so  much  like  his  father,  which  we  had  come  to 
believe  without  exactly  knowing  why.  We  were  certain 
he  was  like  his  father  in  religion;  in  the  hard  way  in 
which  he  worked ;  in  his  capacity  to  mend  his  own  ploughi 
and  wagons ;  and  in  the  easy  manner  in  which  he  adapted 
him&elf  to  his  surroundings,  whatever  they  were,  for  in  all 
these  particulars  he  was  unlike  any  other  man  we  had  ever 
known,  and  different  from  his  neighbors,  who  spent  half  a 
iay  IK  asking  advice  in  a  matter  which  could  be  remedied 


THE  SECRET  OF  INDUSTRY.  19 

m  half  an  hoar.  The  people  came  to  our  house  from  miles 
wound  to  borrow,  and  to  ask  the  best  time  to  plant  and 
to  sow,  but  the  Rev.  John  Westlock  asked  advice  of  no 
one,  and  never  borrowed.  If  he  needed  an  extra  harrow, 
he  made  one  of  wood  to  answer  until  such  a  time  as  he 
could  trade  to  advantage  for  a  better  one ;  if  he  broke  a 
plough,  he  managed  somehow  to  mend  it  until  a  rainy  day 
came,  when  he  made  it  as  good  as  new.  Even  in  cases  of 
sickness  he  usually  had  a  bottle  hid  away  that  contained 
relief,  and  in  all  other  things  was  equally  capable  and 
thrifty. 

If  it  be  to  the  credit  of  a  man  to  say  that  he  was  a  slave 
to  hard  work,  I  cheerfully  add  this  testimony  to  the  great 
ness  of  my  father,  for  he  went  to  the  field  at  daylight  only 
to  return  with  the  darkness,  winter  and  summer  alike; 
and  never  in  my  life  have  I  seen  him  idle  —  except  on  the 
day  appointed  for  rest  —  and  even  then  he  devoured  the 
Bible  like  a  man  reading  at  so  much  per  page.  He  worked 
hard  when  he  preached,  talking  rapidly  that  he  might 
accomplish  as  much  as  possible  before  the  people  became 
impatient,  and  he  no  sooner  finished  one  song  of  warning, 
than  he  began  another. 

My  father  being  large  and  positive,  it  followed  naturally 
that  my  mother  was  small  and  weak,  and  thoroughly  un 
der  his  control.  I  don't  think  she  was  afraid  of  him,  but 
he  managed  his  own  affairs  so  well  that  she  was  willing 
he  fhould  manage  hers,  as  he  had  given  her  good  reason 
to  respect  his  judgment.  She  probably  argued  —  if  she 
argued  the  question  at  all  —  that  as  his  ideas  were  good 
in  everything  else,  he  would  of  course  know  how  to  man 
%ge  a  boy,  so  my  bringing  up  was  left  entirely  to  him. 

She  never  corrected  me  except  to  say  that  father  would 
not  like  what  I  was  doing,  and  she  might  find  it  necessary 
to  call  his  attention  to  it,  but  in  the  goodness  of  her  heart 


20  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWSr. 

ihe  f ergot  it,  and  never  told  him  unless  the  offence  wag  * 
very  grave  one.  While  she  frequently  pleaded  with  me 
to  be  good,  and  cried  in  vexation  if  I  would  not,  she  never 
gave  commands  which  were  enforced  with  severe  punish 
ments,  as  he  did ;  therefore  I  am  afraid  that  I  did  not 
appreciate  her  kindness  and  favor,  but  rather  enjoyed  mr 
freedom  when  under  her  care  as  a  respite  from  restraint  at 
other  times.  She  was  as  quiet  and  thoughtful  as  her  hus 
band,  but  seemed  sad  rather  than  angry  and  discontented, 
as  was  the  case  with  him,  and  it  will  be  readily  imagined 
that  as  a  family  we  were  not  much  given  to  happiness. 
While  I  never  heard  my  father  speak  harshly  to  her,  he 
was  often  impatient,  as  though  he  regretted  he  had  not 
married  a  wife  as  ambitious  and  capable  as  himself ;  but 
if  he  thought  of  it,  he  gave  it  no  other  attention  than  to 
become  more  gloomy,  and  pacified  himself  by  reading  far 
into  the  night  without  speaking  to  any  one. 

I  could  find  no  fault  with  him  except  that  he  never 
spoke  kindly  to  me,  and  it  annoyed  him  if  I  asked  him 
questions  concerning  what  I  read  in  his  books.  When 
Jo  and  I  worked  with  him  in  the  field,  which  we  both  be 
gan  to  do  very  early  in  life,  he  always  did  that  which  was 
hardest  and  most  disagreeable,  and  was  not  a  tyrant  in 
anything  save  the  ungrumbling  obedience  he  exacted  to 
whatever  he  thought  about  the  matter  in  hand,  without 
reference  to  what  others  thought  on  the  same  subject. 
We  had  to  be  at  something  steadily,  whether  it  helped 
him  or  not,  because  he  believed  idle  boys  grew  up  into 
idle  men.  Other  boys  in  the  neighborhood  built  the  early 
fires,  and  did  the  early  feeding,  but  he  preferred  to  do 
these  things  himself  —  whether  out  of  consideration  for 
00,  or  because  it  was  troublesome  to  drive  us  to  it,  I  do 
not  know.  After  starting  the  fire  in  the  room  in  which 
he  slept,  he  stepped  to  our  door  and  told  us  to  get  up,  to 


THE  DAY'S  ROUTINE.  21 

which  command  we  mumblingly  replied  and  slept  on, 
After  returning  from  the  stables,  he  spoke  to  us  again, 
but  we  still  paid  no  attention.  Ten  minutes  later  he 
would  start  up  the  stairs  with  angry  strides,  but  he  never 
caught  us,  for  we  knew  that  was  final  and  hurried  on  our 
clothes.  Seeing  that  we  were  up  and  dressing  when  he 
reached  the  head  of  the  stairs,  he  would  say,  "  Well,  you'd 
better,"  and  go  down  again,  where  we  speedily  followed. 
This  was  his  regular  custom  for  years ;  we  always  expected 
it  of  him,  and  were  never  disappointed. 

After  the  morning  devotions,  which  consisted  of  read 
ing  a  chapter  from  the  Bible  and  a  prayer  always  expressed 
in  exactly  the  same  words,  he  asked  a  blessing  for  the 
meal  by  this  time  ready  (the  blessing  was  as  unvarying  as 
the  prayer),  and  we  ate  in  silence.  Then  we  were  warmly 
clothed,  if  it  was  winter,  and  compelled  to  go  out  and 
work  until  we  were  hungry  again.  I  suppose  we  helped 
him  little  enough,  but  his  reasoning  convinced  him  that, 
to  work  easily  and  naturally,  work  must  become  a  habit, 
and  should  be  taught  from  youth  up,  therefore  we  went 
out  with  him  every  day  and  came  back  only  with  the 
darkness. 

I  think  he  was  kinder  with  us  when  at  work  than  at  any 
other  time,  and  we  admired  him  in  spite  of  the  hard  and 
exacting  tasks  he  gave  us  to  do  —  he  called  them  stints  — 
for  he  was  powerful  and  quick  to  aid  us  when  we  needed 
it,  and  tender  as  a  child  if  we  were  sick.  Sometimes  on 
sold  days  we  walked  rather  than  rode  to  the  timber,  where 
my  father  went  to  chop  wood  while  Jo  and  I  corded  it. 
On  one  of  these  occasions  I  became  ill  while  returning 
Lome  at  night  —  a  slight  difficulty,  it  must  have  been,  for 
I  was  always  stout  and  robust  —  and  he  carried  me  all  the 
way  in  his  arms.  Though  I  insisted  I  could  walk,  and 
ru  better,  he  said  I  was  not  heavy,  and  trudged  along 


22  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

like  a  great  giant,  holding  me  so  tenderly  that  I  thought 
for  the  first  time  that  perhaps  he  loved  me.  For  weeki 
after  that  I  tried  as  hard  as  I  could  to  please  him,  and  to 
induce  him  to  commend  my  work ;  but  he  never  did,  foi 
whether  I  was  good  or  bad,  he  was  just  the  same,  silent 
and  grave,  so  that  if  I  became  indifferent  in  my  tasks,  I 
fear  he  was  the  cause  of  it. 

Other  families  had  their  holidays,  and  owned  guns  and 
dogs,  which  they  used  in  hunting  the  wild  game  then  so 
abundant ;  but  there  was  little  of  this  at  our  house,  and 
perhaps  this  was  the  reason  why  we  prospered  more  than 
those  around  us.  Usually  Jo  and  I  were  given  the  Satur 
day  afternoons  to  ourselves,  when  we  roamed  the  country 
with  some  of  the  idle  vagabonds  who  lived  in  rented 
houses,  visiting  turkey  roosts  a  great  distance  in  the 
woods,  and  only  returning  long  after  night-fall.  I  do  not 
remember  that  we  were  ever  idle  in  the  middle  of  the 
week,  unless  we  were  sent  on  errands,  as  buying  young 
stock  at  low  prices  of  the  less  thrifty  neighbors,  or  some 
thing  else  in  which  there  was  profit ;  so  that  we  had  little 
time  to  learn  anything  except  hard  work,  and  if  we  learned 
that  well  it  was  because  we  were  excellently  taught  by  a 
competent  master.  During  those  years  work  became  such 
a  habit  with  me  that  ever  since  it  has  clung  to  me,  and 
perhaps,  after  all,  it  was  an  inheritance  for  which  I  have 
reason  to  be  thankful.  I  remember  my  father's  saying 
scornfully  to  me  once,  as  if  intimating  that  I  ought  to 
make  up  by  unusual  industry  for  the  years  of  idleness,  that 
I  was  a  positive  burden  and  expense  to  him  until  I  wai 
seven  years  old.  So  it  will  readily  be  imagined  that  I 
wtm  put  to  work  early,  and  kept  steadily  at  it. 


CHAPTER  IIL 

THE  HOUSE  OF  EBBING. 

rriHE  friend  and  companion  of  my  bcyhood  WM  Jo 
J-  Erring,  my  mother's  only  brother,  who  had  been  in 
the  family  since  before  I  was  born.  He  was  five  years 
my  senior,  and  a  stout  and  ambitious  fellow  I  greatly  ad 
mired  ;  but  as  he  was  regularly  flogged  when  I  was,  this 
circumstance  gave  rise  to  his  first  ambition  to  become  a 
man  and  whip  nty  father,  whom  he  regarded  with  little 
favor. 

There  was  a  kind  of  tradition  that  when  he  became  of 
age  he  was  to  have  a  horse  and  ten  dollars  in  money,  but 
whether  this  was  really  the  price  of  his  work  I  never 
knew.  More  likely  he  came  to  our  house  with  my 
mother,  as  he  was  not  wanted  at  home,  and  had  lived 
there  until  other  disposition  could  be  made  of  him.  He 
usually  had  a  horse  picked  out  as  the  one  he  desired,  and 
gave  it  particular  attention,  but  as  each  of  these  in  turn 
was  disposed  of  at  convenient  opportunity,  he  became 
more  than  ever  convinced  that  he  was  related  by  mar 
riage  to  a  very  unscrupulous  man. 

I  remember  him  at  this  period  as  an  overgrown  boy 
always  wearing  cast-off  clothing  either  too  large  or  too 
email  for  him,  and  the  hero  and  friend  of  every  boy  OB 
Fairview  prairie.  Although  he  was  the  stoutest  boy  in 
the  neighborhood,  and  we  often  wondered  that  he  did  not 
•ometimes  whip  all  the  others  simply  because  he  could,  he 
never  quarrelled,  but  was  in  every  dispute  a  mediator  a» 

22 


24  THE  STORY   OP   A    COUNTRY  TOWN. 


nouncing  his  decisions  in  a  voice  good-natured  and  he  arse  •, 
and  as  he  was  honest  and  just,  and  very  stout,  there  were 
no  appeals  from  his  decisions.  In  our  rough  amusements, 
which  were  few  enough,  he  used  his  strength  to  secure  to 
the  smaller  ones  their  share,  and  gave  way  himself  with 
the  same  readiness  that  he  exacted  from  the  others ;  there- 
fore  he  was  very  popular  among  the  younger  portion  of 
the  population,  and  there  was  great  joy  at  school  when  it 
was  announced  —  which  pleasure  I  usually  had  —  that  Jo 
Erring  had  finished  his  winter's  work,  and  was  coming 
the  next  day,  for  all  forms  of  oppression  must  cease  from 
that  date.  Sometimes  he  came  by  the  school  on  a  winter 
evening  with  a  rude  sled,  to  which  he  had  young  horses 
attached  to  break  them,  and  if  the  larger  boys  climbed  on 
to  ride  home,  or  as  far  as  he  went,  he  made  them  all  get 
off,  and  loading  up  with  those  too  small  to  look  after 
their  own  interests  in  the  struggle,  drove  gaily  away 
with  me  by  his  side. 

There  were  few  men  more  trusty  than  Jo,  and  he 
always  made  a  round  in  the  plough-field  after  my  father 
had  turned  out,  as  if  to  convince  him  that  he  was  mistaken 
in  the  opinion  that  boys  were  good  for  nothing.  When 
there  was  corn  to  gather,  he  took  the  slowest  team  and 
the  lazy  hired  man,  and  brought  in  more  loads  than  my 
father  and  I,  and  if  I  found  any  way  to  aid  him  in  this  I 
always  did  it.  They  seemed  to  hate  each  other  in  secret, 
for  the  master  disliked  a  boy  who  was  able  to  equal  him 
in  anything,  as  if  his  extra  years  had  availed  him  nothing ; 
and  I  confess  that  my  sympathies  were  always  with  Jo, 
for  the  grown  people  picked  at  him  because  of  his  ambi 
tion  to  become  a  man,  in  all  other  respects  than  age,  a 
few  years  sooner  than  was  usual.  While  nobody  disputed 
that  he  was  a  capable  fellow,  he  was  always  attempting 
something  he  could  not  carry  out,  &nd  thrs  became  a  suh 


JO  EBBING.  25 

ject  of  ridicule  in  spite  of  his  worth  and  ability ;  if  he  wai 
»ent  to  the  timber  for  wood,  he  would  volunteer  to  be 
back  at  an  impossible  time,  and  although  he  returned 
sooner  than  most  men  would  have  done,  they  laughed  at 
him,  and  regarded  him  as  a  great  failure. 

It  was  said  of  him  that  he  exaggerated,  but  I  think  that 
he  was  only  anxious  that  it  be  known  what  he  could  do  if 
he  had  an  opportunity;  and  as  every  one  thought  less  of 
him  than  he  deserved,  he  kept  on  talking  of  himself  to 
correct  a  wrong  impression,  and  steadily  made  matters 
worse.  His  activity  kept  him  down,  for  another  thing, 
for  thereby  he  raised  an  opposition  which  would  not  have 
existed  had  he  been  content  to  walk  leisurely  along  in  the 
tracks  made  by  his  elders.  He  accepted  none  of  the 
opinions  ctf  the  Fairview  men,  and  it  was  said  of  him  that 
he  was  a  skeptic  for  no  other  reason  than  that  everybody 
else  was  religious,  and  I  am  not  certain  but  that  there 
was  some  truth  in  this. 

If  the  truth  of  a  certain  principle  was  asserted,  he 
denied  it,  not  by  rude  controversy,  but  by  his  actions ; 
and  by  his  ingenuity  he  often  made  a  poorer  one  seem 
better,  if  the  one  proposed  happened  to  be  right,  as  was 
sometimes  the  case  —  for  the  Fairview  people  had  but  two 
ways  to  guess,  and  occasionally  adopted  a  right  method 
instead  of  a  wrong  one,  by  accident. 

I  believe  there  was  nothing  he  could  not  do.  He 
shingled  hair  in  a  superb  manner  for  any  one  who  applied, 
and  charged  nothing  for  the  service.  And  I  helped  him 
learn  the  art,  for  he  practised  on  me  so  much  that  I  was 
nearly  always  bald.  He  made  everything  he  took  a  fancy 
for,  and  seemed  to  possess  himself  of  the  contents  of  a 
book  by  looking  through  it ;  for  though  I  seldom  found 
him  reading,  he  was  about  as  well-informed  as  the  booka 
themselves.  When  the  folks  were  away  at  camp-meeting; 


26  THE  STOBT  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

he  added  my  mother's  work  to  his  own,  and  got  along 
very  well  with  it.  I  never  heard  of  anything  a  Fairview 
boy  could  do  better  than  Jo  Erring,  and  he  did  a  great 
many  things  in  which  he  had  no  competition ;  therefore  I 
have  often  wondered  that  the  only  young  man  there  who 
really  amounted  to  anything  was  for  some  reason  rather 
unpopular.  Jo  was  unfortunate  in  the  particular  that  he 
seemed  to  have  inherited  all  the  poorer  qualities  of  both 
his  father  and  mother  instead  of  the  good  qualities  of 
either  one  of  them,  or  a  commendable  trait  from  one,  and 
an  undesirable  one  from  the  other.  I  have  heard  of  men 
who  resembled  the  less  worthy  of  their  parents  —  I  be 
lieve  this  is  the  rule  —  but  never  before  have  I  known  a 
boy  to  resemble  both  his  parents  in  everything  they  tried 
to  hide.  His  tendency  to  exaggeration  he  got  honestly 
from  his  mother,  who  was  a  fluent  talker,  but  Jo  was  not 
like  her  in  that.  In  this  Jo  was  like  his  father,  who 
would  not  say  a  half  dozen  words  without  becoming  hope 
lessly  entangled,  and  making  long  pauses  in  painful  effort 
to  extricate  his  meaning. 

Jo  was  often  sent  to  a  water-mill  in  the  woods  with 
a  grist,  and  while  waiting  for  his  wheat  or  corn  to  be 
ground,  he  regarded  the  machinery  with  the  closest  at 
tention,  and  at  length  became  impressed  with  the  idea  that 
after  he  had  become  a  man,  and  whipped  my  father,  ho 
would  like  to  follow  milling  for  a  business.  The  miller, 
an  odd  but  kindly  man  of  whom  but  little  was  known  in 
our  part  of  the  country,  admired  Jo's  manly  way,  and 
made  friends  with  him  by  good-naturedly  answering  his 
questions,  and  occasionally  inviting  him  to  his  house  for 
dinner;  and  Jo  talked  so  much  of  his  ambition  and  hii 
friend,  that  he  came  to  be  called  "  The  Miller,"  and  spent 
hi*  spare  time  in  making  models,  and  trying  them  in  thi 
rivulets  which  »an  through  the  fields  after  a  rain. 


THE  MILL  EN  THE  WOODS.  27 

His  father's  farm  was  skirted  by  Big  Creek,  and  here  he 
picked  out  a  site  for  his  mill  when  he  should  be  able  to 
build  it,  at  a  place  called  Erring's  Ford  (the  location 
really  did  credit  to  his  judgment),  and  having  hauled  a 
load  of  stones  there  one  Saturday  afternoon  for  a  dam, 
the  circumstance  gave  rise  to  the  only  pleasantry  evei 
known  in  Fairyiew.  When  any  one  spoke  of  an  event 
not  likely  to  happen,  he  said  it  would  probably  come 
about  when  the  sky  rained  pitchforks  on  the  roof  of  Jo 
Erring's  mill ;  but  Jo  paid  little  attention  to  this  banter, 
and  hauled  more  stones  for  the  dam  whenever  he  had 
opportunity,  in  which  work  I  assisted,  in  preference  to 
idleness  without  him.  He  hoped  to  become  apprenticed 
to  his  friend  the  miller  to  learn  the  business,  and  to  com 
plete  his  own  enterprise  by  slow  degrees  from  his  small 
savings.  And  he  never  lost  sight  of  this  purpose,  pur 
suing  it  so  steadily  that  a  few  of  those  who  at  first 
laughed  at  him  spoke  at  length  encouraging  words,  and 
said  they  believed  he  would  finally  succeed,  although  it 
would  be  a  long  time  in  coming  about. 

I  was  secretly  very  fond  of  the  mill  enterprise,  and 
admired  Jo  more  than  ever,  that  he  was  bold  enough  to 
attempt  carrying  it  out.  Our  plan  to  run  away  was 
altered  by  this  new  interest,  and  we  agreed  that  it  would 
be  better  to  wait  patiently  until  the  mill  was  complete, 
and  buy  our  liberty  from  its  profits ;  for  Jo  had  gen 
erously  agreed  to  ransom  me  as  well  as  himself  as  soon  as 
he  was  able. 

Jo's  mother,  a  very  large  woman  who  was  the  ac 
knowledged  heai  of  the  House  of  Erring,  and  doctor  for 
half  that  country,  lived  four  miles  from  Fairview  church, 
en  Big  Creek,  in  a  house  of  hewn  logs,  the  inside  of  which 
wag  a  marvel  for  neatness.  Of  her  husband  the  people 
knew  nothing  except  that  he  was  a  shingie-maker,  and 


28  THE  STOKY   OP  A   COUNTRY  TOWN. 

that  he  was  probably  a  very  wicked  man,  for  he  wan 
about  the  only  one  in  the  settlement  who  did  not  profesi 
religion,  and  attend  the  gatherings  at  the  church.  The 
calling  of  shingle-making  he  followed  winter  and  summer 
and  he  never  seemed  to  raise  anything  on  his  farm  except 
a  glassy  kind  of  corn  with  a  great  many  black  grains  in 
every  ear,  which  he  planted  and  cultivated  with  a  hoe. 
After  it  was  gathered,  he  tied  most  of  it  in  bunches,  and 
hung  it  up  to  dry  on  the  kitchen  rafters,  where  it  was 
understood  to  be  for  sale  as  seed ;  although  I  never  heard 
that  it  was  good  for  anything  except  to  parch,  and  th« 
only  use  he  ever  made  of  it,  that  I  knew  anything  about, 
was  to  give  it  to  Jo  and  me  with  the  air  of  a  man  con 
ferring  a  great  favor. 

My  father  liked  nothing  about  Dad  Erring  except  his 
<one  virtue  of  attending  to  his  own  business,  such  as  it 
was ;  and  said  of  him  that  he  selected  his  piece  of  land 
because  it  was  near  a  spring,  whereas  the  exercise  of  a 
little  energy  would  have  dug  a  well  affording  an  equally 
good  supply  of  water  on  vastly  superior  land. 

Indeed,  no  one  seemed  to  like  him,  and  the  dislike  was 
mutual,  for  if  he  was  familiar  with  any  one  except  Jo,  my 
mother,  and  myself,  I  never  knew  of  it.  He  seldom  spoke 
even  to  my  grandmother  when  I  was  about,  and  I  think 
only  very  rarely  at  any  other  time,  for  they  seemed  nevei 
fco  have  recovered  from  some  old  trouble.  There  was  this 
much  charity  for  him,  however — the  people  said  no  more 
han  that  he  was  an  exceedingly  odd  sort  of  a  man  (a  ver 
dict  true  of  his  appearance  as  well  as  disposition,  for  he 
was  very  large,  very  raw-boned,  and  clean  shaven),  and 
let  aim  alone,  which  of  all  things  he  probably  moat 
desired. 

The  people  frequently  met  him  walking  along  the  road 
swinging  a  stout  stick,  and  taking  tremendous  strides  (hi 


DAD  EBBING.  28 

Rever  trwned  a  horse,  but  took  long  journeys  on  foot,  r^ 
fusing  a  ride  if  offered  him  by  a  wagon  going  in  tht;  same 
direction),  but  he  did  not  speak  to  them  unless  compelled 
and  apparently  had  no  other  desire  than  to  be  let  alone. 

lie  never  went  anywhere  except  to  the  timber  to  make 
shingles,  and  off  on  excursions  afoot  nobody  knew  whither, 
from  which  he  always  returned  in  a  few  days  in  exactly 
the  same  mood  as  that  in  which  he  had  started.  I  have 
heard  that  he  had  relatives  living  in  a  settlement  south  oi 
us,  but  whether  he  went  to  visit  them  on  his  journeys,  or 
spent  the  money  he  earned  in  shingle-making  in  walking 
about  for  his  health,  paying  for  his  entertainment  where- 
ever  night  overtook  him,  I  did  not  know  then,  nor  do  1 
know  now. 

Once  in  a  long  while  he  came  to  our  house,  alwayg 
when  my  father  was  away;  and,  after  watching  my 
mother  awhile  as  she  went  about  her  work,  went  away 
again,  sometimes  without  saying  a  word,  although  she 
always  talked  kindly  to  him,  and  was  glad  to  see  him. 
Occasionally  he  would  accept  her  invitation  to  refresh 
himself  with  food,  but  not  often ;  and  when  he  did  he 
would  be  offended  unless  she  took  a  present  of  money  to 
buy  something  to  remember  him  by.  If  she  was  dan- 
gerously  ill  —  which  was  often  the  case,  for  she  was  never 
strong  —  he  was  never  sent  for.  Nobody  thought  of  him 
as  of  any  use  or  as  caring  much  about  it ;  but  when  she 
had  recovered,  he  would  come  over,  and,  after  looking  at 
her  curiously,  return  home  satisfied.  I  think  that  had  she 
lied,  he  would  not  have  been  invited  to  the  funeral,  but 
1  am  certain  that  after  it  was  all  over,  he  would  often 
have  visited  her  grave,  and  looked  at  it  in  quiet  astonish 
naent. 

Oil  returning  from  her  visits  to  the  sick,  my  gran/J« 
mother  usually  stopped  at  our  house,  and  soraetimei  ] 


SO  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTBY  TOWN, 

was  Lfted  up  behind  to  go  home  with  her  to  take  care  ol 
the  horse  she  rode,  for  my  grandfather  disliked  horses. 

Arriving  at  the  house  of  hewn  logs  in  the  edge  of  the 
woods,  she  dismounted  and  went  in,  and  I  went  on  to 
the  stables.  Returning  after  I  had  finished  my  work,  I 
found  my  grandfather  on  one  side  of  the  fire-place,  and  ny 
grandmother  on  the  other,  looking  into  the  fire,  or,  if  it 
was  summer,  into  the  cavernous  recess  where  the  backlog 
would  have  been  blazing  in  winter.  If  it  was  evening, 
which  was  usually  the  case,  I  was  soon  sent  out  to  make 
the  fire  for  the  evening  meal,  but  after  this  was  eaten,  we 
resumed  our  places  at  the  hearth.  Sometimes  I  told  them 
what  I  knew  was  going  on  in  the  neighborhood,  and 
caused  them  to  ask  questions,  and  replied  to  them,  and 
tried  to  lure  them  into  a  conversation,  but  I  never  suc 
ceeded.  If  my  grandmother  told  me  that  one  of  her 
patients  had  died,  the  information  was  really  intended 
for  her  husband ;  and  if  he  did  not  fully  understand  it,  he 
directed  his  questions  to  me,  and  she  replied  in  the  same 
way.  In  this  way  they  also  discussed  household  affairs  of 
which  it  was  necessary  for  each  to  know,  storing  them 
up  until  I  came,  but  never  speaking  directly  to  each 
other. 

After  I  had  sat  between  them  for  an  hour  or  more,  it 
would  suddenly  occur  to  my  grandmother  that  I  had  been 
up  too  long  already,  and  after  divesting  me  of  clothing, 
I  was  thrown  into  the  centre  of  a  great  feather-bed,  three 
of  which  stood  in  a  row  at  the  back  end  of  the  room.  I 
was  put  into  the  middle  one,  as  if  to  keep  my  grand- 
parents  as  far  apart  as  possible  again,  for  I  was  certain 
that  my  grandmother  slept  in  one,  and  my  grandfather  in 
the  other.  The  one  which  I  occupied  was  also  the  com 
pany  bed,  for  my  grandmother  evidently  desirod  me  to 
know  that  my  mother,  excellent  woman  though  she  wai, 


AN  OLD  DIFFICULT*.  81 

could  not  hope  to  learn  perfectly  the  art  of  making  up  a 
feather-bed  for  many  years  yet.  If  I  raised  my  head 
quietly,  and  looked  out,  I  found  the  strange  couple  sitting 
by  the  fire  as  I  had  left  them,  and,  in  wondering  whether 
they  would  remain  there  all  niglit,  I  fell  asleep. 

When  I  awoke  in  the  morning  they  were  up  before  me, 
waiting  for  daylight,  as  people  were  early  risers  in  those 
days ;  and  I  never  knew  certainly  that  they  went  to  bed 
at  all,  but  always  wondered  whether  they  did  not  ait 
beside  the  fire  throughout  the  long  night. 

After  a  while  my  grandmother  came  to  the  bed,  pulled 
me  out  and  into  my  clothes,  and  sent  me  to  the  spring  to 
wash  my  face  for  breakfast,  which  was  soon  thereafter 
ready.  When  this  was  over  I  was  started  for  home, 
usually  carrying  a  present  of  butter  or  egg«  for  mj 
mother,  and  a  box  on  the  ewe  for  myself. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  BELIQION  OF  FAIKVTEW 

A   LTHOUGH  the  people  of  Fairview  frequently  did 

£^-  not  dress  comfortably,  and  lived  in  the  plainest 
manner,  they  never  failed  to  attend  the  services  at  th€ 
church,  to  which  everybody  belonged,  with  the  exception 
of  my  grandfather,  and  Jo,  and  myself.  I  have  often 
wondered  since  that  we  were  not  made  the  subject  of  a 
special  series  of  meetings,  and  frightened  into  repentance ; 
but  for  some  unaccountable  reason  we  were  left  alone. 
They  even  discussed  Jo's  situation,  laying  it  to  contrari 
ness,  and  saying  that  if  all  the  rest  of  them  were  wicked, 
he  would  be  religious ;  but  they  said  nothing  at  all  to  me 
about  the  subject.  I  often  attended  the  revivals,  and 
sang  the  songs  as  loudly  as  the  rest  of  them,  but  when 
I  thought  that  I  was  one  of  those  whose  terrible  condi 
tion  the  hymns  described,  it  gave  me  such  a  turn  that 
I  left  that  part  of  the  house  where  the  excitement  rar» 
highest,  and  joined  Jo  on  the  back  seats,  who  took  no 
other  interest  in  the  novel  performance  than  that  o* 
looker-on. 

As  soon  as  a  sufficient  number  of  children  reached  a 
suitable  age  to  make  their  conversion  a  harvest,  a  revival 
was  commenced  for  their  benefit,  and  they  were  called 
upon  tc  make  a  full  confession  with  such  energy,  and 
warned  to  cling  to  the  cross  for  safety  with  such  earnest 
ness,  that  they  generally  did  it,  and  but  few  escaped.  II 
there  was  one  so  stubborn  that  he  would  not  yield  from 
32 


THE  REUfHON  OF  FAIRVIEW.  83 

worldly  pride,  of  which  he  had  not  a  particle  • —  no  one 
ever  supposed  it  possible  that  he  lacked  faith,  though  they 
all  did  —  the  meetings  were  continued  from  Sunday  untiJ 
Monday,  and  kept  up  every  night  of  the  week  at  the 
house  where  the  owner  of  the  obdurate  heart  lived,  so 
that  he  finally  gave  in ;  for  peace  and  quiet3  if  for  nothing 
else. 

If  two  or  three,  or  four  or  five,  would  not  relent  within 
a  reasonable  time,  the  people  gave  up  every  other  work, 
and  gathered  at  the  church  in  great  alarm,  in  response  to 
the  ringing  of  the  bell,  and  there  they  prayed  and  shouted 
the  livelong  day  for  the  Lord  to  come  down  among  them. 
At  these  times  Jo  and  I  were  usually  left  at  home  to  work 
in  the  field,  and  if  we  heard  the  people  coming  home  in 
the  evening  shouting  and  singing,  we  knew  that  the  lost 
sheep  had  been  recovered,  and  I  often  feared  they  would 
form  a  ring  around  us  in  the  field,  and  compel  a  full 
surrender.  A  young  woman  who  lived  at  our  house  to 
help  my  mother,  the  daughter  of  a  neighboring  farmer, 
once  engaged  their  attention  for  nearly  a  week,  but  she 
gave  up  one  hot  afternoon,  and  came  down  the  patli  whicn 
led  through  the  cornfields  from  the  church,  shouting  and 
going  on  like  mad,  followed  by  those  that  had  been  present 
when  tlie  Lord  finally  came  down,  who  were  singing  and 
proclaiming  the  event  as  loudly  as  they  could.  This 
frightened  me  so  much  that  I  ran  into  the  house,  and  hid 
under  the  bed,  supposing  they  would  soon  go  away,  and 
that  then  I  could  come  out ;  but  they  immediately  began 
a  prayer-meeting  to  give  the  new  convert  opportunity  to 
face  a  frowning  world  by  relating  her  experience,  and  thus 
they  kept  me  in  my  uncomfortable  position  until  I  thought 
I  must  smother  from  the  heat. 

My  father  received  little  aid  in  the  conduct  of  these 
meetings  except  from  a  very  good  farmer*  but  very  bad 


84  THE  STORY  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

exhorter,  named  Theodore  Meek,  whose  name  had  been 
gradually  shortened  by  neighborhood  familiarity  until  he 
was  known  as  The.  Meek ;  and  for  a  long  tune  I  thought 
he  was  meant  when  reference  was  made  to  "  The  Meet 
and  lowly,"  supposing  that  Lowly  was  an  equally  good 
man  living  in  some  of  the  adjoining  settlements.  Thi* 
remarkable  man  laughed  his  religion  rather  than  preached, 
or  prayed,  or  shouted,  or  sang  it.  His  singing  would  be 
regarded  at  this  day  as  a  very  expert  rendering  of  a 
laughing  song,  but  to  us  it  was  an  impressive  perform 
ance,  as  were  his  praying  and  occasional  preaching,  though 
I  wonder  we  were  not  amused.  The.  Meek  was,  after  my 
father,  the  next  best  man  in  Fairview ;  the  next  largest 
farmer,  and  the  next  in  religion  and  thrift.  In  moving 
to  the  country  I  think  his  wagons  were  next  to  ours 
which  headed  the  procession.  He  sat  nearest  the  pulpi. 
at  the  meetings,  was  the  second  to  arrive  —  my  father 
coming  first  —  and  always  took  up  the  collections.  If 
there  was  a  funeral,  he  stood  next  my  father,  who  con 
ducted  the  services;  at  the  school-meetings  he  was  the 
second  to  speak ;  and  if  a  widow  needed  her  corn  gath 
ered,  or  her  winter's  wood  chopped,  my  father  suggested 
it,  and  The.  Meek  immediately  said  it  should  have  been 
attended  to  before.  He  also  lived  nearer  our  house  than 
any  of  the  others,  and  was  oftener  there ;  and  his  house 
was  built  so  much  like  ours  that  only  experts  knew  it  wai 
cheaper,  and  not  quite  so  large.  His  family,  which  con 
sisted  of  a  fat  wife  by  a  second  marriage,  and  so  many 
children  that  I  never  could  remember  all  their  names  — 
there  was  always  a  new  baby  whenever  its  immediate  pre 
decessor  was  old  enough  to  name — were  laughers  like 
him,  and  to  a  stranger  it  would  have  seemed  that  they 
found  jokes  in  the  Bible,  for  they  were  alwa  ys  reading 
the  Bible,  and  always  laughing. 


THE  HALT,  BI^ND,  AND  LAMR  86 

Another  assistant  was  Mrs.  Treinaine,  the  miller's  wid 
owed  sister,  who  had  lived  in  the  country  before  we  came, 
a.  wax-faced  woman  who  apparently  had  no  other  duty  to 
attend  to  than  religion ;  for  although  she  lived  a  consid 
erable  distance  from  Fairview  church,  she  was  always  a* 
the  meetings,  and  I  have  thought  of  her  as  being  con 
§tantly  occupied  in  coming  from  or  going  to  church^ 
finding  it  time  to  start  back  again  as  soon  as  she  reached 
home.  The  only  assistance  she  afforded  was  to  pray 
whenever  called  upon  in  a  voice  so  low  that  there  was 
always  doubt  when  she  had  finished ;  but  this  made  little 
difference,  as  it  gave  the  others  opportunity  to  be  heard 
m  short  exclamations  concerning  the  kindness  of  the 
Lord  if  sinners  would  really  renounce  the  world  and 
make  a  full  confession.  Her  speeches  in  the  experience 
meetings  were  of  the  same  order,  and  when  she  sat  down 
the  congregation  invariably  began  a  song  descriptive  of  a 
noble  woman  always  battling  for  the  right,  and  sure  to 
conquer  in  the  end  ;  from  which  grew  an  impression  that 
she  was  a  very  sainted  person,  and  that  the  sins  of  her 
brother,  the  miller,  were  much  on  her  mind.  It  is  certain 
that  he  thought  little  of  them  himself,  never  attending 
the  services,  or  sending  his  regrets. 

It  was  usually  a  part  of  my  duty  on  Sunday  to  take  one 
of  the  wagons,  Jo  taking  the  other,  and  to  drive  about 
collecting  infirm  and  unfortunate  people  who  would 
otherwise  be  unable  to  attend  church ;  for  my  father  be 
lieved  in  salvation  for  all  who  were  willing  to  accept  it, 
though  they  were  poor,  and  unable  to  walk,  or  hear,  or 
see,  or  understand ;  and  he  was  kinder  to  the  unfortunate 
people  than  to  any  of  the  others,  favor'ng  them  out  oi 
bis  strength  and  abundance  in  a  hundred  ways. 

There  was  always  a  suspicion  in  my  mind,  which  may 
have  been  an  unjust  one,  that  they  shouted  and  went  on 


56  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

in  response  to  his  preaching  because  he  was  their  friend^ 
and  wanted  them  to  do  so.  In  any  event,  he  could 
throw  them  into  the  greatest  excitement,  and  cause  them 
wo  exhibit  themselves  in  the  most  remarkable  way,  when 
ever  he  saw  fit,  so  that  they  got  on  very  well  together. 

One  of  these  unfortunates  was  Mr.  Winter,  the  lame 
shoemaker,  who  wheeled  himself  around  in  a  low  buggy, 
Pushing  this  into  my  wagon  with  the  assistance  of  his 
wife,  after  we  had  first  made  a  run-way  of  boards,  I 
nauled  him  to  Fairview,  where  we  unloaded  him  in  the 
same  manner.  He  was  a  very  devout  man,  and  a  shouter, 
and  during  the  revivals  he  wheeled  himself  up  and  down 
the  aisles  in  his  buggy,  which  frequently  squeaked  and 
rattled  in  a  very  uncomfortable  manner,  to  shake  hands 
with  the  people.  I  suppose  that  at  first  this  performance 
was  a  little  odd  to  people,  but  they  got  used  to  it;  for  I 
have  noticed  that  while  strangers  regarded  Mr.  Winter  as 
a  great  curiosity,  he  attracted  no  more  attention  at  home 
than  a  man  unobjectionable  in  the  matter  of  legs.  There 
was  a  good  deal  of  talk  from  time  to  time  of  holding 
special  services  to  restore  Mr.  Winter's  shrivelled  legs  by 
prayer,  but  if  ever  it  was  tried,  it  was  in  secret,  for  I 
never  heard  of  it.  There  were  probably  half  a  dozen 
of  these  unfortunates  altogether,  and  they  were  always 
given  the  best  corner,  which  was  near  the  pulpit,  where 
their  piety  could  be  easily  seen  and  heard. 

With  the  addition  of  a  blind  woman  who  cried  and 
lamented  a  great  deal>  and  whom  I  also  went  after  nearly 
every  Sunday,  those  I  have  mentioned  were  the  one8 
most  conspicuous  in  the  meetings ;  for  while  the  others 
were  very  devout,  they  had  nothing  to  offer  for  the  gen 
eral  good  except  their  presence  and  a  capacity  to  rise  to 
their  feet  and  confess  the  Lord  in  a  few  words.  My 
Esther  waa  the  leader,  of  course,  and  occupied  the  tinu 


FAIRVIEW  MELANCHOLY.  8? 

himself  when  others  could  not  be  induced  to  occupy  it, 
which  was  often  the  case  after  those  I  have  mentiored 
had  appeared  in  what  might  be  called  their  specialties. 

This,  coupled  with  the  unforgiving  doctrines  of  Rev, 
John  Westlock,  was  the  religion  to  which  I  was  acca» 
fcomed,  and  which  I  believe  added  greatly  to  the  other 
miseries  of  Fairview,  for  Fairview  was  afflicted  with  a 
melancholy  that  could  have  resulted  from  nothing  elae. 
There  was  little  visiting,  and  there  were  no  public  gath 
erings  except  those  at  the  church  already  mentioned, 
where  the  business  of  serving  the  Lord  was  dispatched  as 
soon  as  possible  to  allow  the  people  to  return  home  and 
nurse  their  misery.  The  people  were  all  overworked,  and 
I  still  remember  how  the  pale,  unhappy  women  spoke  in 
low  and  trembling  tones  at  the  experience  meetings  of 
heavy  crosses  to  bear,  and  sat  down  crying  as  though 
their  hearts  were  breaking.  I  was  always  touched  bj 
this  pitiful  proceeding,  and  I  doubt  not  their  petition! 
vent  farther  into  heaven  than  any  of  the  others. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  SCHOOL  IN  THE  CHURCH. 

WHEN  there  was  nothing  else  for  them  to  do,  t&f 
children  of  Fairview  were  sent  to  a  school  kept 
in  the  church,  where  they  studied  around  a  big  box 
stove,  and  played  at  noon  and  recess  among  the  raoundf 
in  the  grave  lot,  there  being  no  playground,  as  it  was  not 
intended  that  the  children  of  Fairview  should  play. 

The  older  boys  told  it  in  low  whispers  that  a  sunken 
grave  meant  that  the  person  buried  there  had  been  carried 
away  by  the  Devil,  and  it  was  one  of  our  amusements  to 
look  among  the  graves  from  day  to  day  to  see  if  the 
dreadful  visitor  had  been  around  during  the  preceding 
night. 

These  sunken  graves  were  always  caretully  filled  up  by 
relatives  of  the  persons  buried,  and  I  regarded  this  aa 
evidence  that  they  were  anxious  to  hide  the  disgrace 
which  had  come  upon  their  families  from  neglect  of  my 
father's  religion.  After  a  funeral  —  which  we  were  all 
compelled  to  attend  so  that  we  might  become  practically 
impressed  with  the  shortness  of  life,  and  where  a  hymn 
commencing  "  Hark,  from  the  tomb,  a  doleful  sound,"  was 
lung  to  such  a  dismal  measure  that  the  very  dogs  howled 
to  hear  it  —  I  used  to  lie  awake  in  speechless  tenor  for  a 
great  many  nights,  fearing  the  Devil  would  call  on  me  in 
my  room  on  his  way  out  to  the  grave  lot  to  see  whether 
the  person  just  buried  belonged  to  him. 

The  boys  and  girls  who  attended  from  the  houses  dotted 
88 


THE.  MEEK'S  FAMILY.  89 

about  on  the  prairie  did  not  differ  from  other  children 
except  that  they  were  a  long  time  in  the  first  pages  of 
their  books,  and  seemed  glad  to  come.  I  have  heard  that 
in  some  places  measures  are  found  necessary  to  compel 
attendance  on  the  schools,  but  in  Fairview  the  children 
regarded  the  teacher  as  their  kindest  and  most  patient 
friend,  and  the  school  as  a  pleasant  place  of  retreat,  when 
grumbling  and  complaints  were  never  heard. 

The.  Meek  sent  so  many  children  that  the  teacher  never 
pretended  to  know  the  exact  number.  Sometimes  there 
were  eleven,  and  at  other  times  only  seven  or  eight,  for 
the  older  ones  seemed  to  take  turns  about,  working  one 
day  and  studying  the  next.  I  think  The.  Meek  was  about 
the  only  man  in  our  country  who  was  as  good  at  home  as 
he  was  at  church,  and  his  family  of  white-headed  boys 
were  laughers  like  him,  and  always  contented  and  happy. 
They  never  learned  anything,  and  my  recollection  is  that 
they  all  studied  out  of  one  book  while  I  went  to  school 
there,  reciting  in  a  class  by  themselves  from  the  same 
page.  If  the  teacher  came  upon  them  suddenly  in  their 
seats,  and  asked  them  to  name  the  first  letter  of  the 
alphabet,  the  chances  were  that  one  of  them  would  know 
and  answer,  whereupon  they  all  cried  "  A ! "  in  a  chorus, 
But  if  one  of  the  number  was  called  out  separately  a  few 
moments  later,  and  asked  the  same  question,  the  round, 
chubby  face  would  look  up  into  the  teacher's,  and  after 
meditating  awhile  (moving  his  lips  du?%ing  the  tune  as  if 
recalling  the  rules  governing  such  a  difficult  problem) 
would  honestly  answer  that  he  did  n't  know !  He  was 
tLen  sent  back  to  study,  with  the  warning  that  he  would 
be  called  out  again  presently,  and  asked  to  name  not  only 
the  first  letter,  but  the  second,  and  third,  and  perhaps  the 
fourth.  Going  back  to  his  seat,  the  white-headed  brothean 
gathered  about  him,  and  engaged  in  deep  contemplation 


40  THE  STORY  OP  A    /SOUNTBY  TOWN. 

of  their  book  for  awhile,  but  one  by  one  their  eyes  wart 
dered  away  from  it  again,  and  they  became  the  prey  oi 
anyone  who  had  it  in  his  heart  to  get  them  into  difficulty 
by  setting  them  to  laughing.  If  they  all  mastered  the 
first  three  letters  that  day  they  were  content,  and  were 
§o  pleased  with  their  progress  that  they  forgot  them  the 
next. 

It  was  always  safe  to  go  to  their  house  and  expect  a 
flrarm  welcome,  for  there  seemed  enough  love  hid  away 
somewhere  in  the  big  house  in  which  they  lived,  not  only 
for  all  the  white-headed  boys  (with  a  reserve  stock  for  those 
yet  to  come),  but  also  for  the  friends  who  came  to  see  them. 
Their  mother,  a  large,  fresh-looking  woman,  who  was  noted 
for  a  capacity  to  lead  in  prayers  and  blessings  when  her 
husband  was  away,  was  good-natured,  too.  It  was  the 
happiest  family  I  had  ever  known,  for  though  they  were 
all  beset  with  difficulties,  every  one  of  them  having  either 
weak  eyes  or  the  scald-head,  they  seemed  not  to  mind  it, 
but  patiently  applied  sulphur  for  one  and  mullein  tea  for 
the  other,  remedies  which  were  kept  in  saucers  and  bottle* 
all  over  the  house. 

I  never  heard  The.  Meek  or  his  wife  speak  impatiently 
to  any  of  their  children,  but  they  were  obedient  for  all 
that  —  much  more  so  than  those  of  us  who  were  beaten 
on  the  slightest  provocation  —  and  were  very  fond  of  one 
another.  While  other  boys  were  anxious  to  get  away 
from  home,  The.  Meek's  children  were  content,  and 
believed  there  was  not  another  so  pleasant  place  in  the 
world  as  the  big  house,  built  after  the  architecture  of  a 
packing-box,  hi  which  they  lived.  I  often  thought  of  this 
circumstance  to  their  credit,  and  thought  it  was  also  to 
the  credit  of  the  father  and  the  mother.  There  w  ere  but 
three  rooms  in  the  house >  two  down  stairs,  and  one  above 
u  large  aa  both  of  those  below  in  which  all  the  boyi 


PECULATION  AND  PECULIARITY,  41 

ilept ;  and  here  also  were  the  company  beds,  so  that  had 
I  ever  heard  of  an  asylum  at  the  time  of  which  I  write,  I 
ihould  certainly  have  thought  the  big  room  with  the  nine 
or  ten  beds  scattered  about  in  it  was  like  one. 

I  frequently  went  from  school  to  spend  the  night  with 
the  young  Meeks,  and,  after  we  had  gone  to  bed  in  the 
big  room  upstairs,  I  either  froze  their  blood  with  ghost 
stories,  or  convulsed  them  by  telling  any  foolish  event  I 
happened  to  think  of,  at  which  they  laughed  until  I  feared 
for  their  lives.  If  the  uproar  became  particularly  loud 
tneir  father  and  mother  came  up  to  see  what  it  was  all 
about,  and,  on  being  informed  of  the  cause,  laughed  them 
selves,  and  went  down  again. 

The  two  sons  of  the  crippled  but  devout  shoemaker, 
Mr.  Winter,  were  the  most  remarkable  scholars  that 
attended  the  school,  for  the  reason  that  they  seemed  to 
have  mastered  all  sorts  of  depravity  by  sheer  force  ci 
native  genius ;  for  though  they  possessed  all  the  accom 
plishments  of  street  Arabs,  and  we  thought  they  must 
surely  be  town  boys,  the  truth  was  that  they  were 
seldom  allowed  even  to  go  to  town,  and  therefore  could 
not  have  contracted  the  vices  of  civilization  from  the  con 
tagion  of  evil  society.  When  one  of  them  did  go  he 
returned  with  a  knife  for  nearly  every  boy  in  the  school, 
and  cloves  and  cinnamon  bark  to  last  for  weeks,  which 
were  stolen  from  the  stores.  If  one  of  us  longed  for  any- 
thing  in  their  presence,  they  said  it  would  be  forthcoming 
immediately  if  we  got  them  opportunity  to  go  to  town. 
This  was  only  possible  by  inducing  some  one  to  allow 
them  to  drive  a  team,  as  their  father  was  poor,  and  did 
cot  keep  horses. 

The  older  (and  I  may  add  the  worse)  one  was  probably 
turned  Hardy,  but  he  was  always  known  as  Hard.  Winter, 
because  of  his  hard  character ;  and  his  brother's  evil  repn- 


42  THE  STORY   Off  A  OOUNTKY  TOWN. 

tation  was  BO  woven  into  his  name  that  we  never  knew 
what  the  latter  really  was,  for  he  was  known  as  Beef 
Hide  Winter,  a  rebuke,  I  believe,  for  his  failure  to  get 
away  with  a  hide  he  had  once  stolen,  but  the  boys  ao* 
cepted  these  titles  with  great  cheerfulness,  and  did  not 
mind  them.  They  were  the  mildest  mannered  villains,  1 
have  no  doubt,  that  ever  lived,  for  no  difference  how  con- 
vincing  the  proof  was  against  them,  they  still  denied  it 
with  tears  in  their  eyes,  and  were  always  trying  to  con- 
vi  nee  those  around  them  by  kindness  and  civility  that  they 
were  not  so  bad  as  represented  (though  they  were  worse), 
and  I  fear  they  were  rather  popular  in  spite  of  their  weak 
ness  for  things  not  belonging  to  them.  In  course  of  time 
their  petty  peculations  came  to  be  regarded  in  about  the 
same  light  as  was  their  father's  shouting — one  of  the 
peculiarities  of  the  neighborhood  —  and  we  paid  them  no 
other  attention  than  to  watch  them.  At  the  Fourth  of 
July  celebrations  in  the  woods,  where  all  sorts  of  persons 
came  to  set  up  business,  the  Winter  boys  stole  a  little  of 
everything  they  saw  on  exhibition,  and  generously  divided 
with  their  friends.  If  they  were  sent  together  to  a  house 
near  the  school  after  water,  one  went  through  the  cellar 
while  the  other  went  to  the  well,  and  if  he  secured  any- 
thing  he  made  a  division  at  the  first  opportunity. 

They  always  had  their  pockets  full  of  things  to  give 
away,  and  I  am  satisfied  that  they  came  by  none  of  ttem 
honestly,  for  they  were  very  poor,  and  at  home  but  sel 
dom  had  enough  even  to  eat.  A  habit  of  theirs  was  to 
throw  stones  with  great  accuracy,  a  collection  of  which 
they  carried  around  in  their  pockets,  ready  for  use,  mak 
ing  long  journeys  to  the  creek  bottoms  to  select  them. 
They  always  went  home  with  Guinea-hens  or  geese  in 
their  possession,  which  they  said  had  been  "given  t< 
Ikem,"  but  which  they  had  raally  knocked  over  in  th« 


AGNES  DEMINO.  48 

road  near  farmers'  houses.  They  could  kill  more  squir- 
i  els  and  quails  by  throwing  than  others  of  a  similar  age 
sould  by  shooting,  and  it  will  be  imagined  that  their  fail 
ings  were  but  seldom  mentioned,  for  they  were  dangerous 
adversaries,  though  usually  peaceable  enough. 

The  teacher  of  this  school  at  the  time  of  which  I  no*?? 
write  -—  to  be  more  explicit,  when  I  was  eleven  years  old 
for  what  T  have  already  written  is  a  hurried  retrospect 
covering  a  period  of  six  years  —  was  a  very  young  and 
pretty  girl  named  Agnes  Deming,  certainly  not  over  six 
teen  and  I  doubt  if  that,  who  came  from  a  neighborhood 
north  of  Fairview,  where  her  widowed  mother  lived  with 
an  eccentric  brother,  and  although  it  was  as  poor  as 
ours,  she  spoke  of  it  in  such  a  way  —  not  boastingly,  but 
tenderly  and  reverently  -  -  that  we  thought  of  the  commu 
nity  of  Smoky  Hill  as  a  very  superior  one.  Her  father,  of 
whom  she  talked  a  great  deal,  had  been  captain  of  a  sail 
ing  vessel,  as  I  learned  a  little  at  a  time,  and  before  his 
death  they  lived  in  a  town  by  the  sea,  where  his  ship 
loaded.  Of  the  town,  however,  which  was  called  Brad 
ford,  she  had  but  slight  recollection,  for  when  a  very  littla 
girl  she  was  sent  away  to  school,  and  came  home  only  dt 
long  intervals  to  welcome  her  father,  who  was  often  away 
a  year  at  a  time. 

When  ten  years  old,  and  after  the  ship  had  been  ab 
sent  a  long  time,  she  was  sent  for  hurriedly  one  day,  and 
told  on  her  arrival  that  her  father's  ship  had  gone  down 
at  sea ;  that  all  on  board  were  lost,  and  that  they  were 
going  West  to  live  with  her  uncle,  an  eccentric  man 
srhom  she  had  never  seen.  After  a  few  months  of  prep 
aration,  during  which  time  their  effects  were  converted 
into  money,  they  commenced  their  journey  to  the  country 
in  which  they  had  since  lived.  When  she  was  fourteen 
fears  old  her  uncle  found  her  a  place  to  teach  a  summer 


J4  THE  STOKY  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

ichool,  and,  giving  satisfaction  in  spite  of  her  Under 
years,  she  had  followed  the  calling  since,  her  second  en« 
gagement  being  in  our  neighborhood.  I  remember  ho^r 
generally  it  was  said  on  her  arrival  that  she  would  not  do, 
as  she  was  very  young,  but  before  the  summer  was  over 
she  somehow  convinced  her  patrons  that  she  would  do, 
very  well,  as  she  was  thoughtful  and  intelligent,  and  com 
petent  in  every  way. 

This  was  her  brief  history,  and  before  she  had  lived  at 
Fairview  a  year,  nobody  was  like  Agnes  Deming,  for  she 
was  everybody's  friend  and  adviser,  and  was  kinder  to 
the  people  than  anyone  had  ever  been  before.  She  waa 
a  revelation  to  Fairview  —  a  woman  of  a  kind  they  had 
never  before  seen ;  one  who  uttered  no  complaints,  but 
who  listened  patiently  to  the  complaints  of  others,  and 
did  what  she  could  to  help  them.  Whoever  was  in  dis 
tress  received  her  sympathy  and  aid,  and  I  think  the 
advent  of  this  friendless  little  woman,  with  her  unselfish 
and  pretty  ways,  did  more  good  for  Fairview  than  its 
religion,  for  the  people  tried  to  become  like  her,  and  were 
better  in  every  way. 

From  the  description  she  gave  I  imagined  her  father 
to  have  been  a  bluff  and  manly  fellow,  for  I  had  heard 
that  such  followed  the  sea,  and  when  I  found  her  crying 
softly  to  herself,  I  thought  of  course  she  was  thinking  of 
him,  and  often  regretted  that  he  was  not  in  Fairview  to 
be  proud  of  his  pretty  daughter,  instead  of  at  the  bottom 
of  the  restless  and  angry  sea.  That  they  had  been  very 
fond  of  each  other  I  felt  sure  ;  and  when  the  winds  ble^? 
furiously  around  our  house,  as  they  often  did,  she  seemed 
greatly  distressed,  as  though  it  was  just  such  a  storm  ai 
that  in  which  her  father's  ship  went  down.  She  sang  to 
as  at  night  sometimes,  in  a  sad,  sweet  voice,  but  always  of 
rtorms,  and  of  shipwrecks,  as  if  the  frightful  wanner  oi 


A  CONTRAST.  46 

her  father's  death  was  much  on  her  mind,  and  as  If  she 
lorrowed  always  because  she  could  not  hope  that  some 
day  his  ship  would  come  in,  and  the  dreadful  story  of  his 
death  prove  a  mistake. 

She  said  almost  nothing  of  her  mother,  and  in  reasoning 
about  it  I  thought  that  perhaps  Mrs.  Deming  was  so  much 
distressed  over  the  death  of  her  husband  as  to  be  poor 
company,  and  anxious  to  be  let  alone ;  for  Agnes  seemed 
glad  when  vacation  was  over,  and  she  was  again  occupy 
ing  her  old  room  in  our  house.  Although  she  was  origi 
nally  expected  to  divide  her  time  equally  with  every  family 
sending  children  to  the  school,  or  to  "  board  round,"  she 
was  oftener  at  our  house  than  anywhere  else ;  and  once 
when  she  apologized  in  a  burst  of  tears  for  being  there  so 
much,  my  mother  kissed  her  tenderly,  and  it  was  ar 
ranged  immediately,  to  the  great  satisfaction  of  all,  that 
in  future  she  should  be  a  recognized  member  of  our  family. 
My  mother  was  very  fond  of  her,  and  so  was  my  father, 
though  he  seemed  ashamed  to  be  fond  of  anyone;  and 
being  the  most  influential  of  the  school  directors,  he  saw 
that  her  pay  was  good  and  prompt,  and  on  bad  days  took 
her  to  school  in  a  wagon. 

When  Jo  and  I  were  busy  on  the  farm,  Agnes  taught 
us  at  night,  and  was  so  patient  and  encouraged  us  so 
much  that  we  learned  more  than  we  should  have  done  at 
school.  While  we  were  never  at  school  in  summer,  by 
this  means  we  were  the  head  scholars  in  winter,  though  I 
am  not  certain  this  was  much  to  our  credit,  for  we  had 
little  opposition  from  the  children  of  Fairview. 

I  have  never  seen  a  bird-of-paradise,  and  have  no  knowl 
edge  of  them,  except  that  they  are  very  beautiful ;  but  ii 
their  manners  are  as  graceful  as  their  plumage  is  beauti 
fa],  and  it  is  conceded  that  we  of  Fairview  were  as  un 
gainly  and  ugly  as  crows,  I  hope  the  impression  made  bj 


46  THE  BTOBI   OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

the  coming  of  Agnes  Deming  to  the  settlement  vill  b* 
understood.  I  am  glad  to  be  able  to  write  it  to  the  credit 
of  the  people  that  they  were  not  envious  of  her,  unless  it 
be  envious  in  one  person  to  strive  to  be  like  another  he 
admires,  and  they  all  loved  her  from  the  day  she  caine 
until  the  day  she  went  away. 

Although  slight  in  figure  she  was  the  picture  of  health, 
of  which  she  was  as  careful  as  of  her  dress  and  manners, 
which  were  never  anything  but  mild  and  gentle.  As  man 
and  boy  I  have  honestly  admired  a  great  many  women 
who  afterwards  shocked  my  admiration  by  a  careless  habit 
or  manner  when  they  did  not  know  I  was  about;  but 
Agnes  Deming  was  always  the  same  perfect  woman.  My 
admiration  for  her  never  had  a  check,  and  every  day  I 
found  in  her  a  new  quality  to  respect,  as  did  everyone 
who  came  in  contact  with  her. 

Although  I  was  a  favorite  with  her,  I  believed  that 
when  she  came  into  the  fortune  and  position  she  deserved 
—  I  was  always  expecting  seme  such  remarkable  thing  as 
this  to  happen,  although  I  was  not  certain  just  what  it 
would  be  —  I  was  sure  she  would  not  speak  to  me,  or  any 
of  those  she  had  known  at  Fairview  with  whom  she  had 
associated  temporarily,  and  made  herself  agreeable,  be 
cause  that  was  her  disposition ;  but  that  she  would  hurry 
away  as  soon  as  possible,  to  get  rid  of  thoughts  of  how 
uncomfortable  and  unhappy  she  had  been  among  us.  I 
do  not  think  I  should  have  blamed  her,  for  I  regarded  her 
superiority  as  such  that  I  should  have  been  content  to  see 
her  go  away  to  enjoy  proud  station  and  rich  friends,  thank 
ful  that  she  had  lived  with  us  at  all,  and  made  us  happier 
than  we  had  been. 

1  am  certain  that  her  dress  was  inexpensive,  and  that 
§he  spent  little  of  her  money  in  this  way,  for  most  of  it 
waa  tent  to  her  family ;  but  her  taste  and  skill  were 


MISTRESS  OF  SCHOOL  AND  F&A.UT8.  47 

that  she  was  always  neatly  and  becomingly  attired  (much 
more  so  than  many  I  knew  who  spent  a  great  deal  for  that 
time  to  attain  that  end)  ;  and  she  was  able  to  work  over 
an  old  garment  on  Saturday,  and  appear  on  Sunday  the 
best-dressed  woman  in  the  country.  I  have  thought  that 
she  was  familiar  with  all  the  fashions  in  woman's  drew 
without  ever  having  seen  them,  for  she  was  always  in 
advance  of  the  plates  in  the  Lady's  Book  taken  by  my 
mother. 

With  more  fortunate  surroundings  she  would  have  beeo 
a  remarkable  woman.  But  while  there  were  many  others 
less  good  and  pretty  who  were  better  off,  and  while  she 
may  have  had  at  one  time  bright  hopes  for  the  future,  her 
good  sense  taught  her  that  there  was  really  no  reason  why 
she  should  expect  anything  better  now ;  so  she  diligently 
performed  her  work,  and  gave  up  castle-building.  And  so 
it  came  to  pass  that  she  was  simply  mistress  of  the  Fair- 
view  school,  and  mistress  of  all  our  hearts,  and  did  what 
good  was  possible  without  vain  regret  for  that  which 
might  have  come  to  pass,  but  did  not. 

In  my  recollections  of  that  time,  there  is  nothing  plea- 
aant,  except  the  sweet  and  patient  face  of  Agnes  and  the 
memory  of  Jo,  who  were  always  my  friends,  and  uhxi 
protected  me  when  I  did  not  deserve  it,  and  loved  me  iv 
ipite  ct  ail  my  fault*. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

DAMON  BARKER. 

BARKER'S  Mill,  visits  to  which  had  soiivineed  Fe 
that  he  should  like  to  be  a  miller,  was  built  on  BaL 
River,  in  the  centre  of  the  only  woods  in  all  that  country. 

It  was  said  of  its  proprietor  that  he  came  to  the  country 
a  great  many  years  before  with  a  train  of  wagons  drawn 
by  oxen,  on  which  was  loaded  the  machinery  of  what 
afterwards  became  the  mill,  together  with  his  general 
effects.  Nobody  seemed  to  know  where  he  came  from, 
but  nobody  seemed  to  care,  strangely  enough,  for  he  was 
trusty  as  a  miller,  and  honorable  as  a  citizen.  Occasionally 
he  came  to  our  neighborhood  dressed  in  an  odd-fashioned 
cut-away  coat  with  brass  buttons,  and  vest  and  pantaloon* 
of  an  equally  aristocratic  pattern,  but  I  never  heard  of  his 
going  to  the  country  town.  If  he  had  money  to  pay  there 
or  other  important  business,  he  entrusted  it  to  some  om 
to  transact  for  him,  preferring  to  have  it  half  done  rathe) 
than  to  go  himself.  From  this  circumstance  I  came  to 
believe  that  Damon  Barker  had  been  an  outlaw  in  hit 
time,  and  was  anxious  to  avoid  people,  although  he  wa« 
very  well-bred,  and  the  only  polished  man  I  had  ever 
known. 

He  came  to  our  house  oricrinally,  I  believe,  on  some  sort 
*f  bu§iness,  and,  becoming  acquainted,  happened  in  at  long 
Intervals  afterwards,  but  I  never  knew  that  he  went  any 
where  else.  We  all  admired  him,  for  he  was  a  man  U 

48 


DAMON  BARKER.  49 

make  himself  welcome  anywhere,  and  he  sat  quietly  among 
as  when  he  came  (which  was  always  at  night,  as  though 
for  private  reasons  he  did  not  walk  out  during  the  day), 
and  listened  to  what  was  being  said.  My  father  had  the 
greatest  respect  for  him,  and  was  often  uneasy  under  his 
steady  gaze,  as  if  he  felt  that  Damon  Barker  was  not  a 
Fairview  man,  and  had  knowledge  and  opinions  of  hif 
own.  They  frequently  discussed  all  sorts  of  questions  (or 
rather  my  father  discussed  them  in  Barker's  presence,  who 
only  made  short  answers  indicating  that  he  was  familial 
with  the  subject  in  hand),  and  I  was  forced  to  the  beliei 
that,  had  he  seen  fit,  he  could  have  readily  torn  to  pieces 
many  of  the  arguments  advanced.  His  knowledge  ol 
religious  topics  was  extensive,  but  he  patronized  the  sub 
ject  as  he  would  patronize  a  child,  dismissing  it  with  a 
polite  word  as  though  it  was  of  no  consequence ;  and  we 
wondered  that  a  man  who  understood  the  subject  so  well 
could  be  indifferent,  for  it  was  well  known  that  he  was  not 
religious.  My  father  often  threatened  to  "  speak  "  to  him 
about  it,  bat  he  never  did,  either  fearing  that  Barker 
might  be  able  to  defend  his  position,  or  respecting  his 
disposition  to  avoid  the  subject. 

Although  he  was  courteous  and  well-bred,  lifting  his 
hat  and  bowing  to  my  mother  in  the  most  courtly  manner 
when  he  came  and  went,  it  was  never  remarked  to  his 
discredit,  although  a  man  of  his  manners  had  never  been 
leen  by  us  before.  Had  he  been  the  least  awkward  in  his 
politeness,  I  am  sure  we  should  have  laughed  at  him,  and 
regarded  him  as  a  fop,  for  we  watched  him  narrowly; 
but  his  adieus  and  greetings  were  so  appropriate,  natural, 
and  easy,  that  we  received  them  as  a  matter  of  course, 
and  accepted  them  as  evidences  not  merely  ot  different 
but  of  better  breeding  than  we  were  accustomed  to, 
During  one  of  bis  visits  to  the  house  he  invited  Jo  and 


60  THE  STOBY  OF  A   COUNTRY   TOWN. 

me  to  the  mill,  asking  it  as  a  favor,  and  thus  it  cams 
about  that  occasionally  we  went  to  see  him  on  Saturday 
afternoons,  returning  the  next  day.  Indeed,  we  were 
rather  encouraged  to  go  to  Barker's,  my  father  believing 
that  familiarity  with  such  a  courtly  gentleman  would  do 
as  no  harm,  if  no  good,  and  he  was  not  greatly  displeased 
if  we  did  not  return  until  late  Sunday  evening,  although 
he  always  inquired  what  we  found  so  entertaining  at  his 
house,  and  on  our  replying,  he  found  no  objection  to  it. 

The  house  in  which  Barker  lived  was  built  close  to  the 
mill,  in  a  dense  growth  of  trees,  but  as  if  the  shadow  of 
these  was  not  sufficient  to  hide  him,  he  had  planted  other 
trees  among  them,  until  the  place  was  so  dark  that  the 
sunlight  seldom  found  its  way  in  at  his  windows.  The 
house  was  very  large  and  strong,  with  doors  of  heavy 
hard  wood,  and  I  thought  that  if  Barker  should  be 
attacked,  he  would  make  a  long  defence,  for  he  always 
had  provisions  and  fuel  stored  away  in  great  quantities, 
and  there  was  a  well  in  the  cellar  which  I  always  disliked 
to  drink  out  of,  fearing  there  might  be  dead  men  in  it. 
There  were  thick  wooden  blinds  at  all  the  windows, 
which  were  usually  closed,  and  heavy  iron  bars  across  the 
doors,  and  altogether  the  place  was  so  mysterious  and 
unusua1  that  it  occurred  to  me  when  I  first  went  there 
that  if  either  Jo  or  I  should  discover  some  of  its  secrets 
by  accident,  we  should  be  cut  into  halves,  and  thrown 
down  the  well  for  fear  we  should  disclose  what  we  had 
•8ML 

In  his  own  room,  a  large  apartment  occupying  the 
greater  part  of  the  second  story,  were  strange  and  curious 
things  we  had  never  seen  before ;  and  these  we  were  free 
to  examine  and  question  him  about.  Besides  brass  pis 
tols  hid  away  in  every  box  and  drawer,  there  were  swordi 
and  knives  of  odd  pattern,  and  handsome  dresses  to* 


OCCASIONALLY  WE  WENT  TO  SEE  HIM  ON  SATURDAY  AFTERNOONS 


CURIOSITIES.  51 

f  omen  and  men,  many  of  them  ornamented  with  gold 
lace,  and  all  of  a  style  we  had  never  seen  worn, 

In  a  place  for  plunder  which  adjoined  his  room  were 
kept  half  a  dozen  large  chests,  and  in  looking  through 
them,  when  he  gave  me  permission,  I  half  expected  to  find 
bones  of  dt/ad  men ;  but  I  found  nothing  except  strange 
instruments,  scientific  apparatus,  maps,  drawings  I  had 
no  knowledge  of,  curiosities  gathered  during  a  long  life, 
and  the  odd  clothing  I  have  mentioned.  If  I  found 
something  more  curious  than  the  rest,  I  took  it  to  him  as 
he  sat  grave  and  silent  in  his  own  room,  and  he  told  me 
its  history,  what  use  it  could  be  put  to,  and  where  it  came 
from.  There  were  a  great  many  books,  the  titles  of 
which  I  could  not  pronounce  with  all  my  learning,  and 
these  gave  evidence  of  being  often  used,  for  they  were 
collected  on  a  turning  shelf  within  easy  reach  of  the  table 
at  which  he  usually  sat. 

If  we  found  a  curious  stone  or  leaf,  he  could  tell  its 
nature  and  kind,  and  if  we  asked  of  something  we  read 
in  his  books,  he  told  us  about  it  in  a  quiet,  simple  way, 
making  it  quite  easy  of  comprehension.  Knowing  our 
ignorance,  he  took  pains  to  answer  the  questions  with 
which  we  plied  him,  and  we  often  sat  on  either  side  of 
him  until  far  into  the  night,  listening  to  his  explanations 
of  matters  we  were  curious  about,  sometimes  going  to 
ileep  in  our  chairs. 

Before  he  knew  Jo  and  me  he  had  no  friends  —  he 
told  me  this  himself  early  in  our  acquaintance  —  but  we 
amused  him,  and  he  became  our  companion  in  everything 
we  did  while  at  the  house  or  mill,  instructing  and  bene 
fiting  us  in  a  hundred  ways.  When  I  say  he  became 
onr  companion  in  everything  we  did,  I  mean  no  more 
*Jian  that  he  was  always  with  us,  looking  on  good-naturedly 
irheij  we  played  the  games  at  cards  he  taught  us,  accon* 


62  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY   TOWN. 

panying  us  when  we  walked  through  the  woods  or  rowed 
on  the  river,  and  giving  suggestions  and  help  in  every 
thing.  He  said  but  little  at  any  time,  except  in  ans^ei 
to  our  questions,  and  I  think  his  principal  enjoyment  in 
our  companionship  was  to  listen  quietly  to  what  we  had 
stored  up  to  tell  him  on  our  different  visits. 

He  was  regarded  as  hard  and  exacting  by  those  witL 
whom  he  had  business  dealings  —  he  dealt  in  nothing 
elge  —  but  was  always  kind  and  liberal  with  Jo  and  me, 
giving  us  money  frequently,  and  presents  when  he  could 
get  them.  If  we  were  in  the  mill  with  him,  the  entrance 
of  a  customer  would  harden  his  features  until  we  were 
afraid  of  him,  and  we  went  away  until  the  customer  had 
gone  when  he  soon  became  himself  again,  so  that  we 
grew  to  be  afraid  of  him  except  when  we  were  alone. 

In  Barker's  room  was  a  great  box-stove  in  which  w« 
made  wonderful  fires  in  winter,  and  the  fire  in  it  seemed 
never  to  go  out ;  so  that  I  have  thought  in  summer  that, 
if  the  ashes  were  stirred,  live  couls  could  be  found  at  the 
bottom.  Around  this  we  always  sat  with  him  during  the, 
winter  nights  (and  we  had  opportunity  to  visit  him 
oftener  in  winter  than  at  any  other  time,  for  during  that 
season  we  had  the  least  to  do),  and  did  whatever  Barker 
thought  would  best  amuse  us.  Sometimes  he  gave  us 
suppers,  prepared  by  his  own  hands  from  cans  and  bottles 
stored  away  in  other  chests  we  had  not  yet  examined ; 
at  other  times  he  told  us  the  story  of  one  of  the  brasg 
pistols,  or  of  the  strange  wearing-apparel  we  had  seen, 
holding  the  article  in  his  hand  to  illustrate;  or  if  we 
found  something  belonging  to  a  ship,  he  told  us  of  tne 
tea,  of  storms,  of  strange  countries,  and  of  wrecks. 

In  all  the  stories  of  robbers  and  pirates  that  he  told  ui 
—  and  there  were  many  of  that  kind  because  we  preferred 
them  —  I  always  thought  of  him  as  one  of  the  p/irtici 


BARKER'S  HOUSEKEEPER  59 

pants,  and  was  pleased  when  the  one  I  had  picked  oat  fof 
Barker  freed  the  captive  maiden,  flinging  back  his  com* 
pauions  who  would  murder  her,  with  the  declaration  that 
he  would  have  their  lives  if  they  persisted,  thereupon  con 
ducting  her  within  sight  of  her  home,  and,  having  firs? 
bidden  her  a  gallant  adieu,  galloped  away.  These  recitali 
had  much  of  dashing  romance  in  them,  and  his  robberiec 
were  committed  generally  from  motives  of  daring  rather 
than  gain.  It  was  always  the  mean  and  stingy  miseri 
who  were  robbed,  and  if  a  beautiful  maiden  was  captured 
at  sea  she  was  always  taken  to  her  friends,  unless  she  freely 
consented  to  marry  the  pirate  captain,  which  was  some 
times  the  case. 

This  kind  of  amusement  he  kept  up  at  night  until  we 
became  sleepy,  and,  lighting  us  to  the  room  in  which  we 
were  to  sleep,  he  sat  down  on  the  bed  if  we  desired  it,  and 
continued  the  story  until  we  were  asleep,  when  he  returned 
to  his  own  apartment.  It  seemed  to  me  he  dreaded  the 
hour  when  we  would  go  to  sleep  and  leave  him  alone ;  and 
once  when  I  awoke  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  and  crept 
to  his  door,  I  found  him  sitting  over  the  table  with  his  hat 
and  coat  on,  as  if  ready  to  run  away. 

Barker's  widowed  sister,  the  Mrs.  Tremaine  already 
mentioned,  whose  husband  had  been  a  drunkard  and  a 
doctor,  was  his  housekeeper  (when  she  was  at  home,  which 
was  seldom  the  case).  I  believe  she  was  originally  called 
Bctts,  or  Bett,  but  this  was  shortened  to  B.,  and  by  this 
aame  she  was  generally  known.  It  was  understood  thai 
Dr.  Tremaine  had  been  unkind  to  her  before  his  death, 
and  that  their  married  life  had  been  very  miserable,  though 
I  never  heard  either  Barker  or  herself  say  so.  But  such 
was  generally  thought  to  be  the  case  nevertheless,  for  cer 
tainly  the  excellent  woman  had  had  trouble.  It  was  also 
understood  that  he  died  in  drink,  probably  from  catching 


64  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 


fire  on  the  inside,  and  that  with  his  last  breath 
to  his  wife  as  a  snake,  and  to  his  neighbors  as  devils.  Thin 
impression,  like  the  other  one  with  reference  to  his  dispo 
sition,  had  no  foundation  I  ever  heard  of  except  that  hia 
relict  worried  a  great  deal  about  people  who  were  going 
to  ruin  from  drink.  We  supposed,  of  course,  that  she  was 
prompted  to  this  by  the  memory  of  her  late  husband,  as 
she  was  prompted  to  insist  on  everybody's  being  religious 
by  the  wickedness  of  her  brother,  the  miller.  Having  no 
other  place  to  go  after  her  husband's  death,  she  deter 
mined  to  move  West  and  live  with  her  brother,  and  had 
arrived  at  Fairview  a  few  years  before  we  did.  Although 
there  was  not  a  drunkard  in  the  county,  she  immediately 
began  a  war  on  rum,  and  when  I  first  encountered  the 
words  "  Delirium  Tremens,"  hi  connection  with  drunken 
ness,  I  remember  thinking  I  was  acquainted  with  hij 
widow. 

Next  to  her  desire  to  save  everybody  from  drunken 
ness,  she  wanted  to  save  everybody  from  sin,  and  spent 
most  of  her  time  in  discussing  these  two  questions  ;  but 
%he  had  little  opposition,  for  everybody  in  that  countiy 
was  religious  as  well  as  temperate.  When  she  became 
acquainted  with  the  Rev.  John  Westlock  she  at  once 
hailed  him  as  a  man  raised  up  to  do  a  great  work,  and  waa 
always  with  him  in  the  meetings  he  held  in  different 
places,  nothing  being  thought  of  it  if  he  took  her  with 
him  and  brought  her  back  again. 

Together  they  established  a  lodge  of  Good  Templars  at 
Fairview,  although  the  people  were  all  sober  and  tempe 
rate,  and  once  a  week  they  met  to  call  upon  the  fallen 
brother  to  shun  the  cup,  and  to  redeem  the  country  from 
debauchery  and  vice.  Barker  said  they  spent  one-hall 
ihe  evening  in  "  opening  "  and  the  other  half  in  "  closing/1 
He  also  said  once  that  hia  sister  was  very  much  offended 


A   COLD  WOMAN.  55 

&at  my  father  preached  without  pay,  for  she  would  have 
enjoyed  making  fancy  work,  to  the  neglect  of  her  brother's 
louse,  to  sell  at  fairs  to  pay  the  minister's  salary,  and  that 
she  was  a  brilliant  woman  at  festivals.  Barker  often  crit 
icised  her,  half  in  jest  and  half  in  earnest,  and  once  when 
Jo  and  I  were  at  his  house  for  dinner,  and  something  had 
been  lost,  he  remarked  that  if  B.  were  as  familiar  with  her 
home  as  she  was  familiar  with  the  number  of  gallons  of 
liquor  consumed  annually,  or  with  the  Acts  of  the  Apos 
tles,  things  would  be  more  comfortable.  I  think  he  dis 
liked  her  because  she  paid  so  much  attention  to  other 
people's  faults  and  so  little  to  her  own ;  but  he  treated 
her  courteously,  although  he  appeared  to  avoid  her,  and 
they  were  not  much  together.  B.  frequently  left  home 
for  days  at  a  time,  compelling  her  patient  brother  to  pre 
pare  his  own  meals  or  do  without,  but  he  never  complained 
unless  she  chose  to  construe  half -jesting,  half -earnest  rail 
lery  into  complaint.  At  such  times  she  had  a  way  of  re 
plying  to  his  light  words  with  a  seriousness  that  I  thought 
disgusted  him,  and  made  him  resolve  never  to  mention 
the  matter  again. 

That  she  was  a  miserable  housekeeper  I  had  frequent 
occasion  to  know,  and  Barker's  house  always  seemed  like 
a  bachelor's  home,  as  there  was  nothing  about  it  to  indi 
cate  that  a  woman  lived  there.  Jo  used  to  say  of  Mrs. 
Tremaine  that  she  talked  as  the  women  write  who  furnish 
recipes  to  the  newspapers ;  and  when  she  came  to  oui 
house  the  room  in  which  she  sat  seemed  damp  for  several 
days  thereafter.  Once  after  she  had  slept  there,  and  I 
was  put  into  the  bed  she  had  occupied  a  night  or  two 
afterward,  I  amused  my  mother  by  asking  her  to  change 
ihe  sheets,  as  they  seemed  like  ice  and  would  not  thaw 
out,  and  the  good  humor  with  which  she  did  this  con- 
linced  me  that  she  did  not  like  B.  verv  well  herself.  Hei 


56  THE  STORY  OF    A     >  OUBTRY  TOWN. 

face  was  large  and  round  ai>  1  of  a  waxen  color,  and 
though  it  was  said  by  some  thav,  she  was  handsome  I  never 
thought  so ;  nor  did  I  admire  her  dress,  which  was  very 
rich  and  expensive,  though  exceedingly  plain.  Her  tefeth 
were  very  TV  hite,  and  quite  prominent,  because  she  always 
wore  what  was  intended  to  be  an  enchanting  smile,  and  when 
she  kissed  uie  (which  she  usually  did  in  the  earlier  days 
of  our  acquaintance,  as  a  compliment  to  a  child)  I  thought 
she  must  have  just  finished  washing  her  face,  her  lips 
were  so  cold  and  damp.  Her  hair  being  very  dark,  and 
her  face  very  pale,  I  thought  she  resembled  a  well-dressed 
•and  affable  corpse  risen  from  the  dead,  whose  business  it 
was  to  go  among  the  people  and  warn  them  that  unless 
they  repented  of  their  gins  they  would  very  much  regret 
it  after  death. 


CHAPTER   Vil. 
A  NEW  DISPENSATION. 

TN  spite  of  the  discontent  which  prevailed  there,  Fair- 
J-  view  progressed  with  the  years  of  its  history.  Th€ 
hard  work  of  the  people  paid,  and  they  gradually  became 
well-to-do,  although  they  seemed  surprised  that  they  were 
not  in  the  poor-house,  an  event  they  were  always  promising 
their  families. 

The  old  houses  in  which  they  had  at  first  lived  were  re 
placed  with  new  ones,  the  new  ones  were  furnished  better 
than  the  old  ones  had  been,  and  there  was  a  general  pros 
perity  which  surprised  them,  for  they  had  not  expected  it 
so  soon,  if  at  all.  New  people  came  to  settle  in  spite  of 
the  fact  that  they  were  neither  invited  nor  expected,  and 
many  of  those  who  came  first  had  money  ahead,  and  were 
regarded  by  those  who  came  later  as  of  a  very  old  and 
aristocratic  stock.  Strangest  of  all,  it  was  announced 
that  a  new  minister  had  been  engaged,  and  that  he  would 
arrive  with  his  family,  consisting  of  a  wife  and  one  child, 
|n  a  few  days.  My  father  made  the  announcement  at  the 
3lose  of  his  preaching  one  spring  morning.  He  had 
preached  to  them,  he  said,  because  they  were  too  poor  to 
pay  a  better  man  ;  the  Lord  had  prospered  them,  and  he 
cheerfully  made  way  for  a  successor  who  had  not  only  re 
ligious  enthusiasm,  but  extensive  learning  a#  well.  He 
would  continue  to  exhort  his  brethren  whenever  occasion 
teemed  to  require,  and  aid  in  doii  g  the  work  of  the  Ma» 

87 


68  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

ter,  but  be  believed  the  good  of  the  church  demanded  th« 
arrangement  he  had  made. 

There  was  unusual  feeling  in  his  words  as  he  reviewed 
the  hard  struggle  of  the  settlement,  and  when  he  had  fin- 
ished,  The.  Meek,  though  apparently  in  greater  convul 
sions  of  laughter  than  ever,  managed  to  say  a  few  kind 
words  for  their  pastor,  guide,  and  friend,  and  two  or  three 
of  the  other  men  followed  in  a  similar  strain.  The  women 
began  to  cry  softly,  as  though  the  occasion  were  a  funeral, 
and  one  by  one  the  people  went  forward  to  shake  him  bj 
the  hand,  which  I  thought  surprised  him,  not  being  cer 
tain  but  that  they  were  glad  to  get  rid  of  him,  while  Bro 
ther  Winter  wheeled  vigorously  about,  calling  upon  every 
body  to  praise  the  Lord.  It  was  a  very  unusual  occasion, 
and  those  who  had  lounged  outside  to  read  the  inscrip- 
tions  on  the  head-boards  in  the  grave  lot  came  back  agai;i 
to  see  what  it  was  all  about,  and  heard  the  news  with  sur 
prise  and  astonishment.  Finally,  the  miller's  sister  prayed 
for  everybody,  but  in  a  voice  so  low  that  nobody  knew  it, 
after  which  the  meeting  broke  up,  and  the  congregation 
gathered  in  little  knots  in  the  church  and  in  the  yard  to 
t,alk  of  the  new  minister. 

Great  curiosity  was  everywhere  expressed,  and  the  cu 
rious  naturally  came  to  my  father  for  information.  He 
knew  nothing  except  that  the  new  minister  had  been  trans 
ferred  from  an  Eastern  State  at  his  own  request ;  that  hi§ 
name  was  the  Rev.  Goode  Shepherd,  and  that  he  would 
be  there  for  the  next  service  a  week  from  that  day ;  that 
a  house  had  been  secured  for  him  in  the  eastern  part  of 
the  settlement,  and  that  as  he  was  a  minister,  he  was,  ol 
course,  a  good  man,  and  without  question  of  use  to  the 
church,  else  the  Lord  would  not  permit  him  to  preach. 
This  was  all  he  knew,  or  all  he  cared  to  tell,  and  the  peopli 
went  home  to  wonder  and  to  talk  about  it. 


REV    GOODB  SHEPHERD.  69 

Rev.  Goode  Shepherd  came  West,  I  am  of  the  opinion, 
because  the  East  was  crowded  with  good  men,  and  be 
cause  he  had  heard  there  was  a  scarcity  of  such  in  our 
direction.  Although  he  had  some  vague  ideas  on  the  sub 
ject  of  growing  up  with  the  country,  he  probably  con 
sented  to  come  because  somebody  recommended  it,  and 
not  because  he  was  exactly  clear  himself  how  the  move 
was  to  be  of  benefit. 

Had  some  one  in  whose  judgment  he  had  equal  confi 
dence  suggested  after  his  arrival  that  he  had  better  go 
back  again,  I  have  no  doubt  th°t  he  would  have  become  con 
vinced  finally  that  the  Lord  had  said  it,  instead  of  a  friend, 
and  quietly  returned  to  the  place  from  which  he  had  come ; 
for  he  was  always  uncertain  whether  his  convictions  were 
the  result  of  inspiration,  or  whether  they  were  the  result 
of  the  gossip  he  had  heard. 

I  had  remarked  of  my  father's  religion  that  it  was  a 
yoke  that  did  not  fit  him,  and  which  was  uncomfortable 
to  wear ;  but  the  Rev.  Goode  Shepherd's  religion  was  his 
vocation  and  pleasure,  and  he  believed  in  it  with  all  the 
strength  of  which  he  was  capable.  That  he  was  poor  waa 
evidence  to  him  that  he  was  accepted  of  the  Master  who 
had  sent  him,  rather  than  that  his  life  had  been  a  failure ; 
and  the  work  expected  of  him  he  performed  cheerfully 
and  with  enthusiasm.  He  had  no  desire  to  do  anything 
which  was  not  religious ;  and  the  higher  walks  of  his  pro 
fession,  and  heaven  finally  as  his  reward,  were  all  he  de 
sired  or  expected.  There  was  abundant  scope  in  theology 
for  his  ambition,  and,  far  from  craving  an  active  businesi 
Sfe,  he  rather  chose  his  profession  because  it  offered  ex 
cuse  for  knowing  so  little  about  the  affairs  of  men. 

I  have  thought  that  because  he  took  pleasure  in  his 
religion,  and  lo^ed  it,  was  one  reason  why  it  was  not  so 
hard  and  unforgiving  as  my  father's,  for  on  this  questioa 


60  THE  STORY   OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

there  was  nothing  in  common  between  them  except  that 
both  believed  that  there  is  a  heaven,  and  that  it  is  desira- 
ble  to  be  saved.  The  Rev.  Goode  Shepherd  believed  that 
learning  and  luxury  could  go  hand  in  hand  with  religion ; 
my  father,  that  luxury  was  an  invention  of  the  Devil  to 
make  men  forget,  and  that  learning  could  be  trusted  to 
only  a  very  few,  because,  unless  coupled  with  the  most 
pronounced  piety,  it  was  very  dangerous.  The  Rev. 
Goode  Shepherd  believed  that  a  religious  life  was  most 
easily  lived,  and  that  a  merciful  Providence  had  ordered 
it  that  way  because  the  children  of  men  are  weak ;  my 
father,  that  the  easy  road  to  travel  was  the  broad  one 
which  led  to  torment,  and  that  the  other  was  narrow  and 
difficult,  but  ending  very  pleasantly  as  a  recompense  for 
travelling  it,  and  that  it  was  ordered  that  way  so  that  only 
the  brave  and  deserving  should  win  the  prize,  ridding  the 
righteous  of  the  weak  and  the  undeserving  by  burning 
them  up.  The  Rev.  Goode  Shepherd  believed  that  while 
walking  the  golden  streets  of  the  heavenly  city  he  would 
meet  many  of  the  friends  he  had  worried  about,  saved  by 
love  infinitely  greater  than  he  expected;  my  father,  that 
he  would  miss  many  faces  in  Paradise  he  had  half  expected 
lo  see,  but  who  had  fallen  exhausted  by  the  wayside  and 
given  up  the  struggle. 

The  new  dispensation  did  much  for  Fairview,  and  itf 
advancement  after  the  coming  of  Mr.  Shepherd  was  cer 
tainly  more  rapid  than  it  had  ever  been  before. 

I  never  knew,  but  it  seems  probable  to  me  now,  that 
Mr.  Shepherd  was  educated  for  the  ministry  because  he 
was  quiet  and  religious  as  a  boy,  and  had  always  led  a 
blameless  and  exemplary  life.  I  think  his  expenses  at 
school  were  paid  by  relatives  none  too  well  off  themselves, 
and  that  he  went  directly  from  college  to  the  pulpit 
I  don't  know  what  made  me  think  it,  but  I  always  be 


THE  MINISTER'S  DAUGHTER.  61 

lieved  a  widowed  mother  —  aided,  perhaps,  by  an  older 
sister  or  two  engaged  in  teaching  —  had  provided  for  his 
education  by  the  closest  economy  ;  that  he  had  always 
intended  to  become  famous  to  repay  them  for  their  kind 
ness,  but  finding  it  a  harder  task  than  he  had  imagined, 
that  he  had,  in  later  life,  settled  down  to  the  conviction 
that  to  be  good  is  better  than  to  be  great. 

When  his  tall  form  and  pale  face  appeared  above  the 
pulpit  at  Fairview  for  the  first  time,  the  impression  was 
general  among  the  people  that  he  was  older  than  they 
expected.  The  one  child  he  had  written  he  was  pos 
sessed  of  turned  out  to  be  a  pretty  girl  of  nineteen  or 
twenty,  who  attracted  a  great  deal  of  attention  as  she 
came  in  with  her  mother  and  sat  down  near  the  pulpit. 
Both  sat  throughout  the  service  without  looking  around, 
perhaps  because  they  thought  it  was  not  likely  they 
would  see  much  if  they  should  commit  that  impropriety. 
His  first  preaching  impressed  everyone  favorably,  though 
his  side  whiskers  were  against  him,  as  was  also  the  tall  hat 
standing  on  the  pulpit  beside  him.  His  presence,  how 
ever,  chilled  the  usual  experience  meeting  following,  for 
only  the  men  talked,  and  it  was  short  and  dull.  The. 
Meek's  laugh  was  not  heard  at  all,  and  Brother  Winter 
sat  quietly  in  his  corner,  as  though  undecided  whether, 
under  the  circumstances,  he  would  be  warranted  in  push 
ing  to  the  front.  The  miller's  sister  had  nothing  to  say 
either,  spending  her  time  in  watching  the  minister's  wife 
and  daughter,  who  did  not  recognize  the  impertinence, 
and  altogether  the  occasion  was  not  what  was  expected. 

When  the  meeting  was  dismissed,  my  father  stepped 
forward  to  welcome  Mr.  Shepherd  to  Fairview.  After 
him  came  The.  Meek,  and  so,  one  by  one,  the  people  ad 
vanced  to  be  introduced,  and,  after  awkwardly  shaking 
him  by  the  hand,  retired  again.  Mr.  Shepherd  led  my 


62  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTXV?  TOWN. 

father  back  to  where  his  respectable  wife  and  prettj 
daughter  were,  and  performed  the  ceremony  of  introduc 
tion,  and  I  imagined  as  my  father  looked  at  them  that  he 
thought  they  were  birds  of  too  fine  pUimage  for  that 
clime,  and  would  soon  fly  away  again.  The.  Meek  stood 
immediately  behind  him,  and  was  next  presented,  and 
then  came  all  the  congregation  in  the  order  of  their  im 
portance,  except  the  younger  ones,  who  stood  near  the 
door  looking  on,  and  who  crowded  out  hurriedly  when 
Mr.  Shepherd  came  toward  them,  followed  by  his  wife 
and  daughter.  Although  they  desired  acquaintance  with 
the  new  minister  and  his  family  above  all  other  things, 
they  were  so  awkward  and  uncertain  in  their  politeness 
that  they  hoped  the  new  minister  would  somehow  gradu« 
ally  become  acquainted  with  them  without  an  introduc 
tion,  and  never  discover  that  they  did  not  know  how  to 
be  comfortable  in  the  presence  of  strangers.  Jo  Erriug 
was  among  the  number  of  the  intimidated,  and  I  thought 
he  was  anxious  that  the  new  people  should  not  see  him 
until  he  had  gone  home  and  smartened  himself  up,  as  if 
they  were  of  more  importance  than  he  had  expected,  for 
he  kept  himself  behind  the  others.  Jo  had  a  habit  of 
appearing  on  Sunday  in  his  every-day  attire  —  because 
everybody  else  wore  their  best  on  that  day,  it  was  said 
—  and  this  was  one  of  the  days  he  violated  the  custom  of 
the  country,  probably  for  the  reason  that  the  occasion  was 
an  extraordinary  one. 

It  was  my  father's  custom  to  invite  the  ministers  who 
came  to  Fairview  to  spend  the  day  at  our  house,  that 
thoy  might  be  convenient  for  the  evening  service ;  and 
although  he  hesitated  a  long  while  in  this  case,  as  if  afraid 
the  accommodations  he  could  offer  were  not  good  enough, 
he  hurriedly  consulted  with  my  mother  at  the  last  mo 
ment,  and  walked  out  to  the  gate,  when  thoy  were  pre 


DBIVING  HOME  FROM  CHURCH.  68 

paring  to  start  for  home.  I  could  not  heai  from  where  1 
itood  what  was  said,  but  I  believed  the  invitation  had 
been  given  and  accepted,  and,  when  he  began  to  look 
around  the  yard,  I  was  so  certain  that  I  was  wanted  to 
drive  them  home  that  I  put  myself  in  his  way,  as  the 
wagoc  road  led  through  lanes  and  gates,  and  could  not  be 
easily  described.  My  mother  had  already  hurried  home 
by  the  path  through  the  field,  that  she  might  be  there  to 
meet  them.  When  I  went  up  to  the  wagon  in  response  to 
my  father's  beckon,  he  lifted  me  into  the  seat  beside  Mr. 
Shepherd,  his  wife  and  daughter  occupying  the  back  one, 
and  said  I  would  show  the  way  and  open  the  gates. 

As  we  drove  off  I  felt  that  the  bright  eyes  of  the  girl 
were  devouring  my  plain  coat,  for  she  sat  directly  behind 
me,  and  I  regretted  I  had  not  thought  to  ask  Jo  to  trim 
my  hair  that  morning.  The  grease  on  my  rough  boots 
contrasted  sharply  with  the  polish  of  Mr.  Shepherds 
patent  leathers,  and  my  great  red  hands  were  larger  than 
his,  which  were  very  white,  and  shaped  like  a  woman's. 
I  soon  saw  he  was  a  poor  driver,  and  asked  him  to  give 
me  the  reins,  which  he  willingly  did,  with  a  good-natured 
apology  for  his  incapacity,  pleading  lack  of  experience  in 
that  direction. 

I  knew  they  wanted  to  talk  of  Fairview  and  its  people, 
but  were  shy  of  me,  so  I  pretended  to  be  busy  in  looking 
after  the  horses,  but  they  said  nothing  except  that  there 
was  a  great  number  present,  which  was  true,  as  the  house 
was  full.  I  pointed  out  the  houses  as  we  went  along,  and 
tried  to  be  entertaining. 

"  Old  Lee  lives  there,"  I  said,  as  we  passea  the  house  of 
the  renter  on  oui  farm.  "  He  was  n't  at  church  to-day  ; 
he  has  probably  gone  over  to  the  turkey  roost  in  Bill's 
Creek  bottom." 

I  had  said  it  to  shock  them,  but  they  laughed  very  gaylj 


84  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY   TOWN. 

over  it,  and  the  girl  —  I  had  heard  them  call  her  Mate<* 
—  said  she  presumed  that  wild  turkeys  were  plentiful.  1 
had  secretly  been  longing  to  look  at  her,  so  1  turned 
partly  around,  and  replied  that  the  woods  were  full  of 
them.  She  was  a  very  pretty  girl,  dressed  more  ex- 
pensi.vely  than  I  had  ever  seen  Agnes  dressed,  but  not 
with  so  much  taste.  She  was  rather  pale,  too,  and  I 
could  not  help  thinking  that  her  health  was  not  very 
good. 

"  There  're  deer  here,  too,"  I  said  to,  them,  finding  that 
the  subject  promised  to  be  amusing. 

Mr.  Shepherd  and  the  girl  looked  very  mach  interested, 
but  the  minister's  wife  was  so  stately  and  dignified  that  I 
felt  sure  I  could  never  be  comfortable  in  her  presence. 

"  One  came  running  through  our  field  once  when  Jo  and 
I  were  ploughing,"  I  continued.  "  The  folks  were  away  at 
camp-meeting,  and  Jo  took  the  gun  and  went  after  it.  I 
heard  him  shoot  after  a  long  while,  and  then  he  came 
back,  and  said  it  was  too  heavy  for  him  to  carry  home, 
but  that  if  I  would  finish  the  land  f«»  which  we  were 
ploughing,  while  he  rested,  we  would  hi  ten  to  the  wagon 
and  go  after  it.  I  felt  so  pleased  about  it  that  I  finished 
the  work,  and  when  I  was  through,  he  looked  at  the  sun, 
and  said  we  might  as  well  eat  supper  before  starting,  and 
that  I  had  better  take  the  harness  off  the  horses  while 
they  were  feeding,  as  they  would  be  more  comfortable. 
At  supper  he  asked  me  if  under  the  circumstances  I  didn't 
feei  it  a  duty  to  give  him  my  pie,  which  I  did,  and  after 
he  had  eaten  it,  he  took  me  to  one  side,  and  said  that 
though  he  was  ashamed  of  it  himself,  he  was  compelled 
to  confess  that  he  had  missed." 

This  amused  them  more  than  ever,  and  the  girl  asked 
who  Jo  was.  This  reminded  me  that  I  had  neglected  my 
friend,  and  I  immediately  gave  a  short  and  glowing  h»% 


JO  DRESSES  UP.  65 

lory  of  him,  not  failing  to  mention  that  he  knew  of  nioie 
turkey  roosts  than  old  Lee,  and  that  we  would  visit  one 
of  them  soon,  and  return  by  their  house  with  a  fat  turkey 
They  thanked  me,  and  Mr.  Shepherd  even  said  he  would 
like  to  go  with  us,  whereupon  I  explained  the  process  of 
killing  them  on  moonlight  nights,  which  was  by  getting 
them  between  your  gun  and  the  moon,  where  they  could 
be  easily  seen, 

I  should  no  doubt  have  told  them  other  things  equally 
ridiculous,  but  by  this  time  we  had  reached  the  gates,  and 
soon  thereafter  we  stopped  at  the  house,  where  my  father 
came  out  and  took  them  in.  When  Jo  appeared  to  help 
me  with  the  horses,  I  found  that  he  was  smartly  dressed, 
and  rightly  concluded  that  he  had  hurried  home  to  change 
after  seeing  the  family  at  the  church. 

While  we  were  at  the  stables  he  asked  me  a  great 
many  questions  about  the  girl,  and  I  pleased  him  by  say 
ing  that  I  had  talked  so  much  about  him  on  the  way  over 
that  she  had  asked  me  who  he  was,  and  that  I  had  replied 
he  was  my  uncle,  and  the  principal  young  man  in  Fair- 
view. 

"  What  did  she  say  then?"  he  asked  eagerly. 

"  That  she  desired  to  make  your  acquaintance,  and  that 
she  was  certain  she  had  picked  you  out  in  church." 

It  was  a  dreadful  lie,  but  1  did  not  regret  it,  seeing  how 
well  he  was  pleased. 

"  Then  what  did  you  say  ?  "  he  asked. 

I  was  not  certain  what  would  please  him  most,  so  I  re 
plied  that  the  conversation  then  became  general,  and  that 
Mr.  Shepherd  had  said  he  would  go  with  us  some  night  to 
the  turkey  roost  in  Bill's  Creek  bottom. 

When  we  returned  to  the  house,  the  three  were  sitting 
alone  in  the  best  room,  looking  idly  at  the  books  scattered 
ibout,  anc  the  few  ornaments  my  mother  had  found  time 


66  THE  STORY  OF  A  COTJNTBY  TOWN. 

lo  prepare.  As  I  sat  down  on  the  sill  of  the  open  dool 
with  a  view  of  being  handy  in  case  I  was  wanted,  I  re. 
gretted  that  Agnes  was  not  there  to  entertain  them,  fo* 
she  had  gone  home  a  few  weeks  before,  and  I  was  certain 
they  would  have  been  surprised  to  find  such  a  bright  girl 
in  that  dull  country. 

"Ha!"  Mr.  Shepherd  said,  when  he  saw  me,  "The 
young  man  that  drove  us  over.  I  suppose  you  know  a 
great  deal  about  horses  ?  " 

I  thought  he  made  the  last  remark  as  an  apology  that 
he  had  not  attended  to  his  team  himself,  so  I  replied  that 
I  knew  something  about  them,  but  I  was  sorry  he  kid 
chosen  that  subject,  as  it  was  not  likely  to  interest  his 
daughter,  whom  I  was  anxious  to  talk  with. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say  I  know  very  little  about  horses," 
he  said,  "but  I  intend  to  learn.  I  bought  mine  at  the 
station  where  we  left  the  railroad.  What  do  you  think 
of  them?" 

With  a  view  of  bringing  Jo  into  the  conversation  again, 
I  said  I  would  go  and  ask  his  opinion,  as  he  was  a  very 
good  judge.  I  returned  presently,  and  said  Jo  thought 
they  would  do  very  well.  As  if  remembering  Jo  as  a 
very  amusing  person  I  had  been  telling  them  about,  he 
said :  — 

"  Bring  the  young  man  in.  I  should  like  to  talk  with 
him." 

I  went  out  after  Jo,  but  did  not  go  far,  as  he  had 
ilipped  up  near  the  door,  which  stood  open,  to  listen  to 
what  was  being  said.  He  was  very  red  in  the  face,  but 
followed  me  in. 

"  This  is  your  uncle  Jo,  is  it  ?  "  Mr.  Shepherd  inquired, 
after  I  had  sat  down  again,  leaving  Jo  standing  awk 
wardly  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 

"Yes,  sir,"  I  answered,  having  a  vague  notion  I  ought 


4  SUNDAY  DIMMER.  6? 

to  introduce  them,  but  not  knowing  how  to  go  about  it, 
"  My  uncle  Jo  Erring.  He  lives  here." 

Mr.  Shepherd  advanced  toward  him  pleasantly,  and  1 
thought  he  reached  him  just  in  tune  to  keep  him  from 
falling  down  with  fright. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  know  you,  Mr.  Erring,"  he  said,  in 
his  easy  way,  taking  him  by  the  hand.  "  ITiis  is  my  wife, 
and  this  my  daughter,"  pointing  to  one,  and  then  to  the 
other,  while  shaking  his  hand.  "I  have  no  doubt  we 
shall  become  famous  friends." 

Jo  raised  his  eyes  to  recognize  the  introduction,  and  he 
said  to  me  afterwards  that  he  was  just  getting  ready  to 
bolt  out  of  the  room,  and  run  away,  when  somehow  they 
made  it  pleasant  for  him  to  stay. 

My  uncle  was  a  very  intelligent  fellow,  and  he  soon  be 
came  quite  entertaining,  giving  them  accounts  of  the 
country  and  the  people  which  were  no  doubt  very  droll, 
for  when  I  went  out  presently  I  heard  them  laughing 
merrily  at  what  he  said.  At  dinner  Mr.  Shepherd  ob 
served  that  since  becoming  acquainted  with  Mr.  Erring 
he  felt  like  an  old  citizen,  whereupon  my  father  looked 
up  hurrit  lly  and  was  about  to  ask  who  that  was,  when  he 
suddenly  remembered,  and  muttered,  "Oh!  you  mean 
Jo," 

It  was  sometimes  the  case  that  when  there  was  company 
Ja  and  I  were  compelled  to  wait  at  dinner,  but  I  was  glad 
that  on  this  day  Jo  was  seated  next  Mateel,  and  did  not 
iuffer  the  humiliation.  A  sort  of  rude  politeness  wag 
natural  to  him,  and  on  this  occasion  he  displayed  it  to 
t>uch  advantage  that  I  glowed  with  pride.  While  the 
others  were  talking  of  graver  matters  he  gave  an  account 
of  tne  Fairview  revivals,  which  amused  Mateel  so  much 
that  she  asked  to  be  excused  for  laughing.  I  had  never 
leen  two  persons  get  along  better  together,  and  I  felt 


88  THE  8TOKY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

certain  that  she  would  regard  him  as  a  very  intelligent 
young  man,  which  pleased  me,  for  nobody  else  seemed  to 
do  him  justice,  and  they  all  tried  to  humiliate  and  disgrace 
him  whenever  it  was  possible. 

It  was  a  very  good  dinner  to  which  we  sat  down,  and 
the  Shepherds  complimented  it  so  gracefully  that  my 
mother  was  greatly  pleased;  indeed,  they  found  it  con 
venient  to  make  themselves  agreeable  to  all  of  us,  so  that 
the  afternoon  was  passed  very  pleasantly,  more  so  than 
any  other  Sunday  afternoon  ever  passed  in  that  house ; 
for  my  father  seemed  to  think  that  if  Mr.  Shepherd,  with 
all  his  learning,  could  afford  to  throw  aside  his  Sunday 
gloom,  he  would  risk  it.  I  had  never  seen  him  in  so  good 
a  humor  before,  but  I  knew  he  would  make  up  for  it  the 
next  day;  for  whenever  he  was  good-natured  he  was 
always  particularly  gloomy  for  a  long  time  after  it,  as 
though  he  had  committed  an  indiscretion  of  which  he  was 
ashamed. 

Before  night  it  had  been  arranged  that  Jo  should  drive 
the  Shepherds  home  after  the  service,  as  it  would  be  very 
dark,  tying  a  horse  behind  the  wagon  on  which  to  ride 
back ;  and  it  followed  that  he  drove  them  to  the  church. 
When  we  arrived  there  the  building  wag  crowded  to  ifo 
nanadty ;  the  new  minister  was  a  success. 


CHAPTER 

THE  SMOKY  HILL  SECRET. 

1"T  having  been  decided  to  begin  the  summer  school  a 
-  few  weeks  earlier  than  at  first  intended,  it  became 
necessary  for  me  to  go  after  the  teacher;  so  it  was 
arranged  that  I  should  drive  over  to  Smoky  Hill  on 
Friday,  and  return  any  time  the  following  day. 

My  mother  shared  the  feeling  that  the  neighborhood 
where  Agnes  lived  was  superior  to  ours  —  although  none 
of  us  knew  why  we  had  this  impression  —  and  after  taking 
unusual  pains  with  my  toilet,  she  asked  Jo  to  cut  my  hair, 
which  he  kindly  did  just  before  I  drove  away  in  the 
wagon,  from  the  high  seat  of  which  my  short  legs  barely 
touched  the  floor. 

I  knew  nothing  of  the  settlement  except  the  direction, 
which  was  north,  and  that  the  uncle  with  whom  Agnes  lived 
was  named  Biggs,  but  they  said  I  could  easily  inquire  the 
way.  The  distance  was  twenty  miles,  and  by  repeated 
inquiries  I  found  that  Mr.  Biggs  —  who  was  called  Littl* 
Biggs  by  those  living  near  him  —  lived  in  the  first  white 
house  after  crossing  the  north  fork  of  Bull  River,  and 
when  I  came  in  sight  of  the  place  I  knew  it  as  well  as  if 
I  had  lived  within  hailing  distance  all  my  life.  It  was 
juet  such  a  place  as  I  expected  to  find ;  an  aristocratic 
porch  on  two  sides  of  a  house  evidently  built  after  the 
plans  of  an  architect  —  the  first  b  )use  of  such  pretensions 
I  had  ever  seen  —  with  a  gravel  walk  leading  down  to  the 
gate,  and  a  wide  and  neglected  yard  in  front.  A  broken 


70  THE   STORY   OF   A   COUNTRY  TOWN. 

and  dismantled  wind-mill  stood  in  the  barn-yard,  and 
around  it  was  piled  a  great  collection  of  farm  machinery 
in  an  equally  advanced  stage  cf  decay,  all  rotting  away 
for  lack  of  care  and  use.  There  was  a  general  air  of 
neglect  everywhere,  and  I  thought  Mr.  Biggs  was  an 
indifferent  farmer,  or  else  an  invalid.  Boards  were  off 
the  fences,  and  gates  off  the  hinges,  and  pigs  roamed  in 
every  place  where  they  did  not  belong.  A  herd  of  them, 
<V-  attracted  by  the  sound  of  my  wheels,  dashed  out  from 
under  the  porch,  and  went  snorting  into  the  vegetable 
garden  through  a  broken  fence.  I  noticed  these  things 
as  I  stopped  at  a  large  gate  intended  for  wagons  to  drive 
through,  and  while  wondering  whether  I  had  better  drive 
in  there,  or  tie  the  team  and  walk  up  to  the  house.  While 
debating  the  question  I  saw  that  a  large,  boyish-looking 
young  man  was  pitching  hay  near  the  barn,  and,  noticing 
that  he  had  stopped  his  work  and  was  looking  at  me,  J 
motioned  for  him  to  come  out.  Impatiently  throwing 
down  his  fork,  he  came  out  to  the  fence,  and,  resting  his 
chin  on  the  top  board,  he  looked  at  me  with  great  im 
pudence. 

"  Does  Mr.  Biggs  live  here  ?  "  I  civilly  inquired. 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Biggs  lives  here,"  he  answered,  drawling  the 
first  word  as  if  to  express  disgust. 

"  Well,  then,"  I  said,  "  if  you  will  open  the  gate  I  'II 
come  in." 

He  threw  it  open  with  a  bang,  as  if  to  express  an 
unfavorable  opinion  of  me,  and  I  drove  through,  and 
stopped  down  by  the  stables.  He  followed  sullenly,  after 
banging  the  gate  again,  and,  picking  up  his  fork  without 
looking  at  me,  went  on  with  his  pitching.  I  began  to  feel 
uncomfortable  at  this  cool  reception,  and  inquired  qaitt 
respectfully: — 

«*!•  Mr,  Biggs  at  home  ?  " 


BIO  ADAM.  71 

*  .No,"  the  fellow  replied,  "he's  not  at  hon?e,"  plunging 
his  fork  viciously  into  the  hay  as  though  he  were  wishing 
I  was  under  it. 

"  Is  Miss  Agnes  at  home,  then  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Miss  Agnes  is  at  home."  He  looked  up  in  better 
humor,  as  though  the  name  of  Agnes  was  not  so  disagree 
able  as  that  of  Biggs. 

"  Well,  I  'm  told  to  stay  here  to-night,  and  take  Agnei 
to  her  school  to-morrow.  If  you  '11  show  me  where  to 
stand  the  horses  I  '11  put  them  away." 

He  latd  down  his  fork  at  this  and  went  to  look  through 
the  stables.  There  seemed  to  be  a  spring  somewhere  near, 
for  the  stalls  were  oozy  and  wet,  and  unfit  for  use,  and 
the  fellow  was  debating  in  his  mind  which  was  the  worst 
or  the  best  one,  I  could  not  tell  which.  Finally  he  found 
a  place,  but  the  feed  boxes  were  gone ;  and  then  another, 
but  it  had  no  place  for  the  hay.  I  was  following  him 
around  by  this  time,  and  said  the  last  one  would  do  very 
well,  as  it  was  the  best  one  there. 

He  helped  me  to  unhitch  the  horses,  and  while  we  were 
about  it  I  looked  up  at  the  house  and  saw  Agnes  at  one  of 
the  windows.  She  went  away  immediately,  however,  arid 
I  supposed  she  would  be  down  to  welcome  me ;  but  she 
did  n't  come,  and  I  began  to  feel  very  uncomfortable.  I 
had  consoled  myself  for  the  rudeness  of  the  young  man 
by  the  thought  that  he  would  be  very  much  ashamed  of 
his  incivility  when  Agnes  came  running  down  to  meet 
me ;  but  she  did  n't  come,  and  kept  away  from  the  win 
dow,  and  I  was  uncertain  whether  I  had  better  return 
home  or  seek  shelter  for  the  night  at  another  house. 

I  noticed  in  the  meantime  that  the  fellow  helping  me 
irag  a  giant  in  stature,  and  that  he  had  a  very  little  head, 
on  which  was  perched  a  hat  evidently  bought  for  one  oi 
the  children.  The  band  and  shape  being  gone,  it  looked 
eery  much  like  an  inverted  V. 


72  THE  STORY  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

" I  suppose  you  are  the  preacher's  boy?"  he  said,  aftei 
eying  me  a  long  while,  as  though  that  was  a  very  good 
reason  why  he  should  dislike  me. 

On  my  replying  that  such  was  the  case,  he  looked  at  ma 
as  if  thinking  I  was  larger  or  smaller  than  he  had  imagined, 
and  continued  apparently  in  better  humor:  — 

"  I  have  heard  of  you.  I  live  here.  I  'in  the  hired  man. 
My  name  is  Big  Adam ;  lazy  Adam,  she  calls  me." 

I  had  heard  that  little  eyes  denoted  cunning,  and  little 
ears  great  curiosity,  and  Big  Adam's  were  so  particularly 
small  that  I  determined  to  be  very  wary  of  him  during 
my  stay. 

"  She  owns  the  farm,  though  Biggs  pretends  to  own  it," 
Big  Adam  went  on,  "  but,  while  they  do  not  agree  in  this, 
they  agree  that  Big  Adam  has  n't  enough  to  do,  and  is 
very  lazy,  and  between  them  I  have  a  great  deal  of  trou 
ble.  I  do  all  the  work  that  is  done  here,  and  though  you 
may  think  from  looking  around  that  I  am  not  kept  very 
busy,  I  am.  There  are  four  hundred  acres  here,  and  they 
expect  me  to  keep  it  in  a  high  state  of  cultivation.  You 
§ee  how  well  I  succeed ;  it 's  the  worst-looking  place  on 
earth." 

I  began  to  understand  him  better,  and  said  it  looked 
very  well  when  I  drove  up. 

"  May  be  it  does  —  from  the  road,  but  I  have  n't  been 
out  there  for  a  year  to  see.  I  am  kept  too  busy.  But  if 
you  stay  here  long  I  '11  take  you  out  into  the  field,  and 
show  you  weeds  higher  than  your  head.  Instead  of  spend 
ing  the  money  to  mend  the  stables  and  fences,  they  buy 
more  land  with  it,  to  give  Big  Adam  something  to  do ;  for 
they  are  always  saying  that  I  am  fat  from  idleness.  I  am 
fat,  but  not  from  idleness.  I  have  n't  had  time  this  spring 
to  comb  my  hair.  Look  at  it." 

He  took  off  the  A-ghaped  hat,  and  held  his  head  down 


LYTLB  BIGGS.  73 

tor  me  to  see.  It  reminded  me  of  the  brush  h&*pft  IE 
which  we  found  rabbits  at  home,  and  I  wished  Jo  had 
come  along ;  he  would  have  been  delighted  to  shiagle  it. 

"  But  you  go  into  the  house,"  he  said,  putting  on  his 
hat  again,  and,  taking  up  the  fork  he  had  laid  down  to 
hunt  a  stall  for  my  horses :  "  you  '11  hear  enough  of  lazy 
Adam  in  there.  They  '11  tell  you  I  'm  lazy  and  shiftless, 
because  I  can't  do  the  work  of  a  dozen  men  ;  and  they  '11 
tell  you  I  am  surly,  because  I  can't  cheerfully  go  ahead 
and  do  all  they  ask  me  to.  A  fine  opinion  of  Big  Adam 
you'll  have  when  you  go  away ;  but  I  ask  you  to  notice 
while  you  are  here  if  Big  Adam  is  not  always  at  work; 
and  Agnes  will  tell  you  —  she  is  the  only  one  among  them 
who  pretends  to  tell  the  truth  —  that  she  has  never  seen 
me  idle.  But  go  on  into  the  house ;  I  am  not  auowed  to 
talk  to  strangers." 

Accepting  this  suggestion,  I  went  through  a  ^dte  which 
was  torn  off  its  hinges  and  lying  fiat  in  the  path,  and, 
walking  up  the  steps,  I  knocked  timidly  at  tht,  front  door. 
While  waiting  for  some  one  to  answer  my  ra^>,  I  noticed 
a  door-plate  hanging  on  one  screw,  and,  careening  my 
head  around,  read  "Lytle  Biggs."  I  then  anderstood 
why  his  neighbors  called  him  Little  Biggs  -  -  it  was  his 
name. 

I  had  n't  time  to  congratulate  myself  on  this  discovery, 
for  just  then  the  door-plate  flew  in,  and  Agnes  stood  before 
me.  Although  she  was  friendly  to  me  as  usual  there  was  a 
constraint  in  her  manner  that  I  could  not  understand,  and 
as  she  led  the  way  in  she  looked  as  though  she  was  ex- 
oecting  the  house  to  blow  up. 

"  My  uncle  is  away,"  she  said,  confusedly,  after  we  were 
icated  in  a  room  opening  off  from  the  hall  where  I  had  en 
tered,  "  but  we  expect  him  home  to-night.  My  mother  ii 
lot  well,  and  demands  a  great  deal  of  care,  or  I  should  hav« 


T4  THB  8TOBY  Oi    A  COTJNTBY 

eome  down  to  the  |**fe  to  meet  you  ^vhen  ye  a  drove 
up." 

She  was  so  ill  at  ease  that  I  hurried  to  explain  my  er 
rand,  and  I  thought  she  was  greatly  relieved  to  know  1 
had  not  come  on  a  visit. 

"  I  shall  be  ready  in  the  morning  at  any  time  you  are," 
she  said ;  and  I  wondered  she  could  leave  her  mother,  for 
I  had  been  fearing  that  perhaps  I  should  have  to  go  back 
without  her. 

There  was  a  great  romp  and  noise  in  the  room  above 
the  one  in  which  we  sat,  and  she  looked  out  through  the 
door  leading  into  the  hall  as  if  half  expecting  to  see  some 
body  come  tumbling  down  the  stairs. 

"My  uncle's  children,"  she  said,  seeing  I  wondered  at 
the  noise.  "  He  has  eight." 

I  wondered  she  had  not  told  of  them  before,  and  then 
I  remembered  that  she  seldom  talked  of  her  uncle's  family 
or  of  her  mother. 

"  How  are  they  all  ? "  I  inquired,  thinking  I  must  say 
something. 

There  was  a  great  crash  hi  the  room  overhead  and  a  cry 
of  pain,  and  Agnes  went  quickly  to  the  door  to  listen. 
Being  convinced  that  one  of  them  had  fallen  over  a  chair, 
she  came  back,  and  replied  to  my  question. 

"  Very  noisy,"  she  said,  half  laughingly.  "  I  fear  they 
will  annoy  you ;  it  is  so  quiet  at  your  house,  and  there  is 
•o  much  confusion  here." 

I  said,  "  Oh !  not  at  all,"  not  knowing  what  other  reply 
tc  make. 

"My  uncle  Lytle" — I  pricked  up  my  ears  at  thia, 
as  her  pronunciation  of  her  uncle's  name  wag  differ 
ent  from  that  given  it  by  his  neighbors  —  "my  uncle 
Ly tie  is  trying  to  bring  them  up  in  tow  n  fashion  here  in 
the  country,  and  they  are  seldom  allowed  to  go  out  of 


A  QUEER  FAMILY.  75 

floors,  BO  that  they  can't  be  blamed  for  being  rude  and 
bad.  All  of  them  except  the  baby  would  be  out  at  the 
•tables  with  Big  Adam  if  they  were  given  the  opportu 
nity,  but  their  father's  orders  are  to  keep  them  away  from 
the  stables,  and  in  the  house.  So  we  make  the  best  of 
them." 

Just  then  they  all  came  tearing  out  into  the  hall  above 
to  the  stair  rail,  and  I  knew  they  were  peeping  over; 
but  some  one  came  out  hurriedly  after  them,  and,  driving 
them  all  back  into  the  room  again,  shut  the  door  with  a 
bang. 

"They  are  anxious  to  see  you,"  Agnes  said,  smiling. 
"  They  have  the  greatest  curiosity  imaginable.  There 
will  be  no  peace  until  they  are  allowed  to  look  at 
you." 

Feeling  that  I  was  an  intruder  in  the  house,  for  some 
reason,  I  suggested  that  she  let  them  come  down,  promis 
ing  I  would  amuse  them  as  best  I  could.  She  thought  a 
moment,  and  then,  excusing  herself,  went  out.  After  a 
long  time  I  heard  her  coming  back  with  them.  Six  of 
them  rushed  into  the  room  ahead  of  her,  and,  taking  up  a 
position  behind  the  chairs,  looked  at  me  curiously.  The 
other  two  she  carried  in  her  arms,  one  of  them  being  an 
tifant  not  more  than  four  or  five  months  old. 

They  seemed  a  queer  lot  to  me,  their  clothing  being  of 
a  pattern  I  had  never  seen  before,  and  I  noticed  that  the 
boys  wore  their  hair  in  long  curls,  and  that  their  frocks 
were  braided.  All  of  their  faces  were  pale,  which  did  not 
result  solely  from  their  being  lately  washed,  and  the  older 
boys  were  dressed  in  short  trousers,  and  wore  shoes, 
though  it  was  summer,  a  peculiarity  which  attracted  my 
attention  particularly,  because  most  of  the  boys  I  had 
known  went  barefooted.  Agnes  placed  the  baby  on  my 
knee,  and  I  goon  had  all  the  children  about  me,  asking 


76  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

questions  and  going  through  my  pockets.  Indeed,  I  sno 
ceeded  very  well  in  amusing  them.  While  they  wer« 
playing  around,  1  heard  some  one  come  down  the  stairs, 
and  go  down  the  hall  to  a  door  which  I  judged  led  into 
the  kitchen.  Presently  Agnes  went  out  too,  and  I  sup 
posed  they  were  making  arrangements  for  supper,  which 
thought  was  probably  suggested  by  the  fact  that  it  was 
late,  and  that  I  was  very  hungry.  The  children  amused 
themselves  with  me  for  a  considerable  time,  and  were 
more  noisy  than  ever,  when  unfortunately  one  of  them 
fell  headlong  over  a  chair  and  set  up  a  most  terrible  cry. 
Immediately  a  little  dried-up  old  woman  came  hurrying 
into  the  room,  who,  picking  up  the  screaming  one,  and 
roughly  taking  the  baby  out  of  my  arms,  drove  them  all 
up  the  stairs  before  her,  slapping  and  banging  them  as 
they  went,  so  that  they  were  all  screaming  by  the  time 
the  door  up  stairs  closed  upon  them. 

While  she  was  collecting  them  I  saw  that  the  new 
comer's  hair  was  twisted  behind  her  head  in  a  tight  little 
knot,  and  that  she  was  very  slender,  and  very  short ;  that 
her  features  were  small  and  sharp,  and  dried-up  like  a 
mummy's,  and  that,  altogether,  she  was  the  most  repulsive- 
looking  creature  I  had  ever  seen.  I  half  expected  that 
she  would  give  me  a  rap  as  she  went  out,  she  looked  so 
sour  and  ugly.  I  supposed  she  was  a  servant ;  possibly 
Adam's  mother,  and  when  Agnes  came  in,  which  she  did 
a  moment  after,  looking  very  much  frightened,  I  had  it  in 
my  mind  to  say  that  the  old  woman  of  the  sky  had  swept 
the  children  away  with  a  broomstick. 

"I  was  afraid  they  would  annoy  you,"  she  said  hur 
riedly,  as  though  it  was  necessary  to  say  something  before 
I  could  remark  on  the  queer  little  old  woman  who  had 
driven  them  away. 

I  was  about  to  reply  that  we  were  getting  along  very 


AN  AGRICULTURIST.  T7 

well  until  one  of  them  fell  down,  when  she  continued :  -* 
u  My  uncle  has  just  driven  up.  He  is  coming  in." 

At  that  moment  the  door  opened  softly,  and  a  very 
small  and  handsomely  dressed  man  stepped  into  the  room. 
He  spoke  to  Agnes  pleasantly,  and  as  he  looked  inquir 
ingly  at  me,  she  explained  :  — 

"  One  of  my  pupils  from  Fairview,  Ned  Westlock.  I 
shall  go  home  with  him  to-morrow,  as  the  school  opens  a 
week  earlier  than  was  expected." 

I  knew  now  why  his  neighbors  called  him  Little  Biggs 
—  because  he  was  very  short,  and  very  thin,  and  very 
little. 

«A.h!  Ned  Westlock." 

After  he  had  said  this,  he  looked  at  me  very  attentively 
while  he  removed  his  gloves.  Placing  them  in  his  tall  hat, 
he  set  both  away,  and  came  back  to  me. 

"  I  arn  very  glad  to  know  you,"  Mr.  Biggs  said.  "  I  am 
glad  to  have  you  a  guest  at  our  house." 

This  was  encouraging,  as  nobody  else  had  said  as  much, 
and  I  felt  better. 

"I  need  not  apologize,"  he  said,  "for  the  rough  but 
honest  ways  of  us  farmers,"  looking  admiringly  at  his  thin 
legs,  and  brushing  at  a  speck  of  dirt  which  seemed  to  be 
on  one  of  them,  "  for  I  believe  you  come  of  an  agricultural 
family  yourself." 

I  was  surprised  at  this  reference  to  his  rough  ways,  for 
he  was  extremely  fastidious  in  his  dress  and  manner.  I 
managed  to  admit,  however,  that  I  came  of  an  agricul 
tural  family. 

"  Those  of  us  who  live  in  the  country,  and  earn  our 
bread  in  the  sweat  of  our  brow,"  Mr.  Biggs  went  on,  seat 
ing  himself  beside  me,  "  cannot  be  particular.  Our  cloth 
ing,  our  food,  and  our  ways  are  rough,  but  substantial  and 
honest.  We  have  other  matters  to  look  after,  such  ai 


T8  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

following  the  plough,  sowing  the  grain,  and  tossing  the  hay 
We  may  have  our  ambitions  like  other  men,  but  they  art 
dwarfed  and  bent  by  holding  the  plough,  and  pitching  the 
hay.  When  did  you  come,  and  how  long  do  you  stay  ? " 

I  replied  that  I  had  arrived  but  a  few  hours  before,  and 
that  I  would  depart  the  next  day  at  any  hour  Agnes  wag 
ready. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  Mr.  Biggs  was  good  enough  to  say,  "  I 
should  be  delighted  to  show  you  how  we  carry  on  a  four 
hundred  acre  farm.  Other  great  farmers  have  from  four 
to  a  dozen  hired  men  about  them,  but  Big  Adam  and  I 
do  all  the  work  here ;  and  we  are  equal  to  it,  though  it 
keeps  us  very  busy,  as  you  will  imagine.  We  have  no 
time  for  the  fine  arts,  you  may  be  certain." 

He  ran  on  gayly  in  this  way,  making  himself  out  in 
ignorance  and  muscle  the  equal  of  one  of  our  Fairview 
farmers,  although  he  was  really  nothing  else  to  my  mind 
than  a  fop,  until  Agnes  came  in  and  said  we  were  to  walk 
out  to  supper.  There  was  no  one  in  the  supper  room 
when  we  entered  it,  and  although  I  expected  other  mem 
bers  of  the  family  every  moment,  none  came.  Agnes  was 
there  most  of  the  time,  but  did  not  sit  down,  and  supplied 
the  place  of  a  servant. 

"  Those  of  us  who  live  in  the  country,"  said  Mr.  Biggs, 
helping  me  to  meat  and  bread  with  the  greatest  ceremony, 
"  cannot  be  particular  as  to  what  we  eat,  except  that  it  is 
substantial  and  hearty.  Meat  and  bread  and  milk  make 
muscle,  and  muscle  is  hi  great  demand  on  a  farm.  Big 
Adam  and  I  find  a  great  deal  of  it  necessary  in  tilling 
these  four  hundred  acres,  therefore  we  insist  on  plenty  of 
plain  and  substar  tial  food.  Excuse  me,  if  I  eat  like  a 
hog." 

The  supper  was  a  very  good  one,  but  he  talked  a  great 
deal  about  its  being  plain  but  hearty;  and  although  ba 


JAWIKQ,  79 

irafi  dainty  in  his  eating,  and  ate  nothing  but  bread  and 
milk,  and  toasted  bread  and  tea,  he  kept  apologizing  for 
nis  ravenous  appetite.  He  had  something  to  say,  too, 
about  shovelling  in  his  food  with  a  knife,  and  bolting  it  — 
he  did  neither,  but  on  the  contrary  was  very  delicate  — 
and  as  he  kept  watching  me,  I  thought  that  he  must  be 
apologizing  for  his  guest,  which  made  me  very  uncom 
fortable  at  my  bad  manners,  for  up  to  that  time  I  had  not 
been  backward  in  falling  to.  But  as  he  continued  to  de 
nounce  his  unnatural  craving  for  food,  and  frequently 
expressed  the  fear  that  the  meal  lacked  so  much  of  what 
I  was  accustomed  to,  that  I  could  not  possibly  make  out 
a  comfortable  supper,  I  finally  made  up  my  mind  he  did 
not  mean  me  at  all. 

When  I  had  finished  he  was  waiting  for  me,  and  we 
adjourned  to  the  room  in  which  I  had  played  with  the 
children.  Lighting  a  cigar  (which  he  said  was  a  very 
poor  one,  but  which  he  observed  in  the  course  of  the 
evening,  as  an  example  of  his  extravagance,  had  cost 
twenty  cents)  he  took  a  dressing-gown  from  a  closet,  and, 
putting  it  on,  sat  down  before  me,  the  picture  of  luxurious 
ease. 

While  we  sat  there  I  heard  the  family  of  eight,  accom 
panied  by  their  mother  and  the  little  old  woman  who  had 
frightened  me,  come  banging  down  the  stairs,  and  file  into 
the  supper  room,  where  there  were  a  steady  noise  and 
wrangle  until  they  had  finished  and  gone  up  the  stairs 
again.  I  heard  Big  Adam  protesting  to  some  one  that  it 
was  not  pleasant  to  be  always  "jawed  at,"  and  that  he 
did  all  he  rt,ould ;  but  when  the  argument  threatened  to 
oecome  boisterous,  I  heard  a  pleasanter  voice  intercede, 
ind  establish  a  peace,  and  I  was  sure  this  was  Agnes's, 
Mr.  Biggs  stopped  once  or  twice  to  listen  to  the  confu- 
turn,  a*  if  trying  to  hear  what  was  being  said,  but  recol 


80  THE   STORY  OF   A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

lecting  that  if  he  could  hear,  I  could  as  well,  he  began 
talking  again  to  draw  my  attention  from  it.  He  tried  tc 
make  me  believe  the  children  were  making  the  disturb- 
ance,  and  said :  — 

"  There  can  be  no  order  in  a  house  full  of  children,  and 
yery  little  comfort."  He  stopped  to  think  a  moment,  but 
the  uproar  in  the  supper  room  was  so  great  that  he  went 
on  trying  to  draw  my  attention  away  from  it.  "  I  confess 
to  thinking  something  of  them,  but  every  pleasure  they 
bring  is  accompanied  by  inconvenience,  expense,  and 
annoyance.  Have  I  told  you  yet  that  I  am  a  philoso 
pher?" 

I  had  suspected  that  something  was  wrong  with  him, 
though  I  could  not  tell  what  it  was.  I  replied  politely, 
however,  that  he  had  not. 

"  Well,  I  am  one,"  the  little  man  said  with  a  show  of 
pride.  "  A  great  many  men  regard  children  as  blessings. 
Now  I  have  failed  to  discover  any  kind  of  a  blessing  or 
pleasure  in  being  called  up  in  the  middle  of  the  night 
to  run  for  a  doctor  when  there  is  croup  in  the  house, 
Usually,  too,  in  such  cases  the  medical  man  lives  a  great 
many  miles  away,  over  a  rough  i'oad.  Whenever  I  go  to 
bed  early  to  make  up  lost  sleep,  or  come  home  particularly 
feired  from  tossing  the  hay  or  holding  the  plough,  either 
Annie,  or  Bennie,  or  Carrie,  or  Davie,  or  Erne,  or  Fannie, 
or  Georgie,  or  Harry,  is  sick,  and  I  am  compelled  to  go  for 
a  doctor.  This  never  fails  if  the  night  is  very  wet,  the 
roads  unusually  heavy,  or  the  weather  partieularl)1  cold 
While  everybody  admires  little  children,  I  arn  sure  they 
urould  be  much  more  popular  if  their  teeth  came  more 
easily;  and  that  there  would  be  a  greater  demand  for 
them  if  they  did  not  take  a  hundred  different  diseases  ti 
which  they  are  not  exposed.  I  am  that  kind  of  phil 
ssopher." 


A  PHILO8OPHKK.  81 

The  fire  in  the  end  of  his  cigar  having  about  gone  out, 
uom  holding  it  in  his  hand  and  waving  it  at  me,  he 
revived  it  with  a  great  deal  of  puffing,  and  went  on  :  — 

"Understand  me,  Ned  Westlock ;  I  do  not  complain. 
i  am  like  other  men,  except  that  I  am  not  a  fool ;  and 
while  I  accept  the  bitter  with  the  sweet,  I  point  out  the 
bitter  and  refuse  to  call  it  palatable.  I  am  at  a  loss  to 
understand,  for  example,  why  the  Creator  is  more  con 
siderate  of  pigs  than  He  is  of  children ;  for  I  believe  pigs 
cut  their  teeth  before  birth,  and  seldom  die  except  when 
fat  from  good  health,  and  at  the  hands  of  a  butcher. 
Children,  on  the  other  hand  "  —  he  used  his  right  hand  to 
represent  the  pigs,  and  his  left  to  represent  the  children 
—  "  are  never  well,  and  for  every  tooth  there  is  an  inso 
lent  doctor  with  a  bill,  to  say  nothing  of  measles,  coughs, 
rashes,  and  fevers.  I  have  seen  it  estimated  that  it 
requires  three  thousand  eight  hundred  and  seventy-nine 
dollars  and  thirty-five  or  forty  cents  to  raise  a  baby  to 
manhood  or  womanhood.  A  pig  may  be  raised  to  ma 
turity  with  a  few  hundred  buckets  of  slop,  a  few  bushels 
of  corn,  and  a  wisp  of  hay  occasionally  for  a  bed.  What 
do  you  think  of  that  ?" 

As  he  looked  at  me  as  though  I  had  been  stubbornly 
arguing  the  cause  of  the  children,  I  replied  that  the  pigi 
hai  the  best  of  it,  so  far,  decidedly. 

"  If  you  have  never  talked  with  a  philosopher  before, 
you  nay  never  have  had  your  attention  called  to  the  fact, 
which  possibly  has  escaped  your  own  notice,  that  children 
do  not  appreciate  good  treatment,  as  do  pigs  and  other 
animals.  The  very  worst  thing  you  can  do  for  a  boy  ii 
to  treat  him  well.  Where  do  you  find  the  good  boys  ?  " 

He  made  a  pause  as  if  expecting  a  reply,  and  I  said, 
u  I  don't  know,"  but  I  knew  at  once  that  he  was  imp» 
bent  that  I  had  replied,  for  he  wanted  to  do  alJ  the  talk 
m  himself. 


£2  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

"In  families  where  boys  are  always  hungry  and 
abused,"  he  resumed.  "Where  do  you  find  your  bad 
boys  ?  In  families  where  they  are  treated  well,  of  course. 
A  boy  who  has  plenty  to  eat,  and  plenty  to  wear,  and 
nothing  to  do,  is  always  impudent  and  worthless;  and 
parents  who  go  to  trouble  and  expense  that  their  children 
may  be  happy  and  idle  pay  a  big  price  for  a  pestilence.  I 
do  not  pretend  to  say  that  in  practice  I  am  more  of  a 
philosopher  than  my  neighbors ;  but  it  is  a  fact,  neverthe 
less,  that  the  pig  that  slips  into  the  house  and  litters  it 
up  is  beaten  with  a  broomstick  until  he  understands, 
when  tempted  on  future  occasions,  that  the  practice  is 
dangerous.  If  the  pigs  get  on  the  porch,  and  you  open 
the  door  suddenly,  they  run  away  in  great  haste,  having 
been  taught  by  harsh  means  that  they  are  not  expected 
there ;  and  if  we  would  teach  children  in  the  same  way, 
we  should  have  more  comfort  with  them.  But  practically 
we  regard  the  training  of  pigs  as  more  important  than  the 
training  of  children,  and  suffer  much  discomfort  in  con 
sequence.  I  recognize  certain  inexorable  masters,  and 
obey  them  to  avoid  uncomfortable  consequences ;  and  a 
child  must  have  a  master,  or  it  will  become  disagreeable 
and  annoying." 

He  stopped  to  listen  to  the  noise  made  by  his  family  up 
stairs.  It  was  very  uproarious,  and  I  thought  he  was 
regretting  that  his  philosophy  had  not  been  made  to  bear 
tome  practical  fruit. 

"  If  you  were  a  young  man,"  he  continued,  coming  out 
of  a  brown  study,  "and  had  driven  from  Fairview  to  ask 
my  advice  on  this  question,  I  should  advise  you  thus: 
4  Sir,  if  you  covet  the  society  of  little  children,  hire  them 
to  play  at  your  house  until  you  are  tired ;  for  then  you 
can  send  them  away,  and  enjoy  the  quiet  following  tkcii 
•boence.  You  will  find  that  pleasant  enough,  but  if  yow 


GREATNESS  AND   SINGING.  88 

aave  a  house  full  of  your  own,  that  alters  the  case ;  fot 
(ike  tLe  deserving  poor,  they  then  are  always  with  you  — - 
in  sickness  as  well  as  in  health,  and  when  they  are  disa 
greeable  as  well  as  when  they  are  not.'  That  would  be 
my  candid  advice ;  you  may  accept  it,  or  let  it  alone,  a* 
you  choose." 

He  waved  the  hand  at  me  which  he  had  previously  used 
to  represent  the  pigs,  as  though  I  had  been  asking  him  to 
counsel  me  on  the  subject,  and  as  if  he  were  impatient 
that  I  did  not  accept  his  advice  at  once.  But  recollecting 
himself,  he  took  a  delicate  knife  from  his  pocket,  and 
after  profuse  apologies  for  his  ill-manners,  proceeded  to 
pare  his  finger  nails,  looking  occasionally  at  me  as  if 
doubting  my  ability  to  understand  his  philosophy,  for  1 
had  scarcely  said  a  word  in  reply  to  it. 

"  I  understand  your  father  is  a  singer,"  he  said,  'after 
his  fingers  were  mentally  pronounced  satisfactory. 

I  replied  with  a  show  of  pride  that  he  had  the  finest 
voice  ever  heard  in  Fairview  church,  and  that  he  was 
famous  for  it. 

"  He  ought  to  stop  it,"  Mr.  Biggs  abruptly  said.  "  Peo 
ple  enjoy  his  singing,  I  have  no  doubt,  but  if  he  were  a 
friend  of  mine  —  I  have  not  even  the  pleasure  of  his 
acquaintance  —  I  would  say  to  him,  '  Quit  singing,  Rev 
erend  John,  if  you  would  become  great.'  How  does  it 
come  he  is  not  in  the  Legislature?  Because  he  sings. 
The  people  do  not  associate  statesmanship  with  singing. 
When  a  man  is  honored  for  singing,  he  is  honored  for 
ittle  else.  Did  you  ever  know  a  great  man  who  sang?" 

I  replied  that  I  had  not,  for  I  had  never  known  a  great 
uian. 

"  Well,"  he  answered  curtly,  "  I  know  them  all,  and 
none  of  them  sing.  Or  play.  The  darkey  who  can  sing 
ftnd  dance  is  popular  with  an  idle  crowd,  but  the  solid 


34  THE  STORY   OF  A  COUNTRY   TOWN. 

people  who  have  gardens  to  spade,  or  walls  to  whitewash, 
avoid  the  nrisical  negro,  for  his  talent  is  likely  to  bi 
exhausted  in  that  direction.  I  don't  pretend  to  know 
why  it  is  against  a  man  that  he  is  able  to  entertain  people 
with  his  voice,  or  with  the  skill  of  his  fingers;  I  only 
know  it  is  the  case.  It  would  be  a  kindness  for  somebody 
to  say  as  much  to  Reverend  John  ;  you  may  convey  the 
information  to  him,  with  my  compliments,  if  you  wish." 

I  had  been  wishing  all  evening  that  Agnes  would  come 
m,  and  ask  me  to  sing,  as  I  thought  I  had  talent  in  that 
direction,  and  even  debated  in  my  mind  whether  I  would 
roar  the  "  Hunter's  Horn,"  or  "  Glorious  Day  of  Rest " 
for  the  amusement  of  my  host ;  but  I  was  now  glad  she 
had  been  so  considerate  of  my  feelings,  and  spared  me  the 
humiliation.  I  was  quite  certain  that  if  she  should  ask 
me  to  sing  after  what  Mr.  Biggs  had  said,  I  should  declare 
I  had  never  attempted  to  do  such  a  ridiculous  thing. 

"Every  man  who  tells  an  uncomfortable  truth,"  Mr. 
Biggs  began  again,  after  lighting  a  fresh  cigar  by  the  re 
mains  of  the  old  one,  "  is  called  a  beast.  I  am  called  a 
beast  in  this  neighborhood  (which  is  known  for  taxing 
and  voting  purposes  as  Smoky  Hill)  because  I  tell  a  great 
many  unpalatable  truths;  I  have  eyes  and  intelligence, 
therefore  I  cannot  help  noticing  (and  mentioning)  that 
the  people  of  this  country  pay  more  attention  to  raising 
thorough- bred  stock  than  to  raising  thorough-bred  childrey 
which  you  must  admit  is  ridiculous.  I  hear  that  The. 
Meek,  for  instance,  has  his  stable  full  of  fine  gtcck,  and 
his  house  full  of  sore-eyed  children.  The.  Meek  is  evi 
dently  an  ass;  I'm  glad  I  do  not  know  him.  If  I  did,  I 
thould  make  myself  disagreeable  by  mentioning  thf 
circumstance." 

I  may  as  well  mention  here  that  Mr.  Biggs  was  not  th« 
kind  of  man  he  claimed  to  be.  On  the  contrary,  he  madt 


PERNICIOUS  PIE.  86 

his  Irving  by  indorsing  the  follies  of  other  people,  but  he 
had  pointed  out  their  mistakes  to  himself  so  often  that  I 
suppose  he  really  believed  he  was  generally  despised  for 
telling  the  truth. 

"  We  have  many  of  the  same  kind  of  men  in  Smokj 
Hill.  It  affords  me  pleasure  to  assure  you  that  I  am 
unpopular  with  them,  and  they  take  great  comfort  in  the 
belief  that  I  am  likely  to  die  in  a  year  or  two  of  consump 
tion.  But  I  have  already  had  the  satisfaction  of  attend 
ing  the  funerals  of  five  men  who  predicted  that  I  was  not 
long  for  the  world ;  I  expect  to  help  bury  the  rest  of  them 
at  intervals  in  the  future.  While  I  get  a  little  stronger 
every  year,  by  care  and  common  sense,  they  get  a  little 
weaker,  by  carelessness  and  ignorance,  and  finally  they 
are  buried,  with  L.  Biggs,  Esq.,  the  consumptive,  looking 
contentedly  on.  The  trouble  with  these  men  is  that  they 
eat  everything  coming  in  their  way,  like  pigs,  lacking  ob 
servation  to  teach  them  that  a  greater  number  of  people 
die  of  over-feeding  than  die  of  over-drinking  or  over 
working.  The  last  Smoky  Hill  glutton  that  died  was  the 
Most  Worthy  Chief  of  a  temperance  society,  and  he  was 
always  quarreling  with  his  wife  because  she  did  n't  have 
pie  for  breakfast.  For  my  part,  I  detest  pie." 

I  was  about  to  say  that  while  I  agreed  with  him  in 
everything  else,  I  should  be  compelled  to  make  an  ex 
ception  in  the  pie  particular;  but  he  did  not  give  me 
opportunity,  for  he  proceeded  :  — 

"In  my  visits  to  the  homes  of  cultured  but  unwise 
people,  I  am  frequently  tempted  to  do  violence  to  my 
stomach  by  eating  late  at  night,  but  recollecting  the 
fate  of  the  Smoky  Hill  men,  I  respectfully  decline.  When 
I  am  offered  cake,  and  nightmare  in  other  forms,  I  do  not 
greedily  accept  and  devour  everything  set  before  me,  but 
instead  1  say,  'If  you  hav3  cold  oatmeal  mush,  or  a  bit  of 


38  THE  STOBY  OF  A  COTTNTBY  TOWN. 

graham  bread,  I  will  refresh  myself  with  that,  bat  nt 
cake,  I  tlumk  you,  although  the  assortment  is  fine,  and 
reflects  great  credit  on  the  lady  of  the  house.'  Thus  I 
preserve  my  health,  and  j)rove  my  philosophy.  But  no 
doubt  I  am  wearying  you  ;  I  will  show  you  to  bed." 

He  did  not  ask  me  whether  I  was  tired  of  his  company, 
but  picked  up  the  light  as  though  he  could  decide  ques- 
tions  for  boys  without  their  assistance,  and  leading  the 
way  up  stairs,  I  meekly  followed.  Opening  a  door  after 
reaching  the  upper  floor,  he  gave  me  the  light,  said  good 
night,  and  went  down  again,  as  though  he  had  not  had 
enough  of  his  own  company,  and  would  sit  up  a  while 
longer. 

There  were  two  comfortable  beds  in  the  room  to  which 
Mr.  Biggs  had  shown  me,  and  Big  Adam  occupied  one  of 
them  already,  sound  asleep.  His  clothes  were  piled  up  in 
a  heap  by  the  side  of  it,  with  the  A-shaped  hat  on  top, 
ready  to  go  on  the  first  thing  in  the  morning.  He 
mumbled  occasionally  in  his  sleep,  and  I  thought  he  was 
saying  he  did  the  best  he  could,  and  that  it  wasn't 
pleasant  to  be  "jawed  at,"  which  made  me  think  again 
of  the  terrible  old  woman  with  the  parchment  face,  the 
.ittle  head,  the  little  body,  and  the  little  knot  of  hair  on 
the  back  of  her  head.  I  felt  like  kneeling  down  by  my 
bed  and  praying  that  the  queer  woman  might  not  have  a 
habit  of  walking  through  the  house  at  night,  accompanied 
by  the  kitchen  butcher-knife  freshly  sharpened  at  the 
grindstone,  for  there  was  no  lock  on  the  door.  But 
speedily  occupying  the  other  bed,  and  putting  out  tht 
light,  I  had  hardly  begun  thinking  of  the  curious  family 
before  I  was  sound  asleep. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

THE  CHARITY  OF  SILENCE. 

WHEN  I  went  down  to  breakfast  the  nert  morning, 
I  found  Agnes  waiting  for  me,  and  the  meal  ready ; 
and  as  was  the  case  the  night  before,  she  presided  at  the 
table  without  sitting  down.  I  ate  alone,  and  in  silence, 
as  it  was  explained  that  Mr.  Biggs  was  not  yet  up,  though 
it  was  late,  and  Agnes  did  not  seem  to  be  in  a  mood  for 
talking.  The  circumstance  that  other  members  of  the 
family  kept  out  of  the  room  made  me  think  that  I  was 
regarded  in  the  house  as  a  sort  of  a  machine  likely  to 
explode  and  hurt  somebody,  and  could  be  approached 
only  by  those  who  knew  where  the  safety  valve  was  which 
blew  me  off;  for  I  supposed  Mrs.  Biggs  and  Mrs.  Deming 
to  be  very  aristocratic  people,  who  could  not  tolerate  a 
country-bred  boy.  Therefore  I  did  not  feel  in  very  good 
humor  myself,  thinking  that  Agnes  was  ashamed  to 
exhibit  me  to  her  friends.  Going  out  to  the  stables  in 
lazy  preparation  for  returning  home,  I  found  Big  Adam 
pitching  hay,  as  I  had  left  him  the  day  before. 

"  Well,  young  Westlock,  how  are  you  now  ? "  he  in- 
juired,  leaning  on  his  fork. 

I  returned  his  greeting,  and  said  I  would  hitch  up  when 
he  had  time  to  help  me. 

"  You  need  n't  be  in  a  hurry  about  it,"  he  said,  returning 
to  his  work.  "If  I  were  you  I  would  manage  to  get 
home  just  at  dark,  for  then  you'll  have  nothing  to  dc 

87 


88  T11E  STORY   OF   A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

luring  the  day.  If  you  get  back  too  jarly  the  preachei 
may  find  something  for  you  to  do." 

There  was  a  good  deal  of  truth  in  this,  and  I  thanxed 
him  for  the  suggestion. 

"I  know  something  about  hired  help  and  boys  on  a 
farm.  I  have  had  a  ripe  experience  in  the  service  of 
Biggs.  I  thought  he  would  talk  you  to  death  last  night; 
it's  a  terrible  death  to  die.  What  did  he  say?" 

I  repeated  portions  of  the  conversation,  and  gave  par 
ticular  stress  to  what  he  had  said  concerning  his  and  Big 
Adam's  doing  the  work  of  half  a  dozen  men. 

"  He  is  always  saying  that,"  Big  Adam  said  indignantly, 
"'  but  I  assure  you  on  my  honor  that  he  never  held  a  plough 
or  pitched  hay  a  day  in  his  life.  Why,  he  is  not  here  a 
third  of  his  time.  He  came  home  last  night  after  an 
absence  of  four  weeks ;  I  don't  know  where  he  has  been, 
but  to  some  of  the  towns  a  long  way  off,  probably.  At. 
ten  or  eleven  o'clock  he  will  breakfast,  and  then  I  shall 
hitch  up  and  drive  him  over  the  place,  during  which  time 
he  will  point  out  and  suggest  enough  work  to  keep  a 
dozen  men  busy  for  months ;  and  after  assuring  me  it 
ought  all  to  be  done  before  night,  he  will  return  to  the 
house  to  lounge  about.  In  a  day  or  two  he  will  go  away 
again,  and  come  back  when  he  gets  ready.  That's  the 
kind  of  a  farmer  Biggs  is,  but  I  must  say  for  him  that  he 
is  quiet  and  peaceable.  I  wish  I  could  say  as  much  for 
his  sister,  the  old  pelican." 

Up  to  this  time  Big  Adam  had  been  wearing  hi« 
A-shaped  hat  so  far  back  on  his  head  that  I  was  wonder- 
it  did  not  fall  off;  but  as  if  there  were  some  people  s<,( 
contemptible  that  he  could  not  possibly  mention  them 
without  showing  his  temper,  he  jerked  the  hat  over  on  his 
\ow  forehead  when  he  said  this,  and,  looking  out  frois 
under  it  with  his  little  eyes,  viciously  sfeid,  "Danirv" 


UNSATISFACTORY  DRINKING.  89 

"  And  who  is  his  sister  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Old  Missus  Deming,  Agnes' s  mother ;  the  little  old 
iroman  they  were  careful  you  should  not  see." 

It  came  to  me  all  at  once  —  how  foolish  of  me  not  to 
have  thought  of  it  before  —  why  Agnes  never  talked 
fcbout  her  mother,  and  why  she  always  seemed  to  be  glad 
to  be  away  from  her ;  she  was  disagreeable,  not  only  to 
Big  Adam,  but  to  every  one  around  her.  I  understood 
now  that  Agnes  was  frightened  when  I  first  came  for  fear 
I  should  see  her  mother,  and  not  for  fear  her  mother 
would  see  me,  as  I  had  imagined ;  and  I  felt  so  much 
better  that  I  had  a  mind  to  walk  in  the  yard  in  plain  view 
of  the  house,  that  Mrs.  Deming  might  regret  not  having 
made  my  acquaintance.  I  told  Adam  that  I  had  seen 
her,  however,  and  narrated  the  circumstance  of  her  ap 
pearance  in  the  room  after  the  children. 

The  hired  man  expressed  his  satisfaction  at  this  very 
much  as  I  have  seen  young  colts  express  it,  by  kicking  his 
legs  out  in  various  directions,  and  snorting.  After  he  had 
enjoyed  himself  in  this  manner  for  a  while  he  said :  — 

"  It 's  just  like  her,  though.  They  might  have  known 
better  than  to  have  left  her  alone.  It's  a  wonder  she 
did  n't  hit  you ;  I  wish  she  had,  for  then  you  would 
despise  her,  as  I  do." 

He  continued  to  chuckle  to  himself  as  though  it  was  a 
satisfaction  to  him  that  I  had  seen  his  enemy ;  and  put 
ting  his  finger  in  his  mouth,  he  drew  it  out  in  such  a  man 
ner  that  it  sounded  like  pulling  a  cork ;  then  thumping 
his  jaws  he  made  a  sound  of  liquor  coming  out  of  a  bot 
tle.  This  pantomime  I  interpreted  to  mean  that  if  he 
were  better  off  he  would  celebrate  the  event  with  some 
thing  expensive  to  drink.  I  found  out  afterward  that  this 
was  a  habit  with  him  when  in  a  good  humor,  and  he  had 
acquired  such  skill  by  practice  that  if  your  back  wa§ 
turned  to  him  the  deception  was  perfect. 


00  THE  STORY  OF  A  COD  NTH Y  TOWN. 

"  SLe  's  the  worst  woman  on  earth,"  he  continued,  lead 
ing  me  behind  the  barn  to  be  more  confidential.  "  They 
say  she  never  smiled  in  her  life,  and  I  believe  it.  She 
grumbles,  and  growls,  and  jaws  from  morning  until  night ; 
but  what  can  they  do  ?  Bless  you,  she  owns  the  farm  !  ** 

I  looked  astonished,  to  induce  him  to  go  on. 

44  Yes,  she  owns  the  place,  and  you  bet  she  looks  after 
.t.  When  she  came  here  with  Agnes,  six  or  seven  years 
ago,  her  brother  had  a  great  tract  of  land  bought  on  credit, 
and  she  paid  for  it  with  the  money  she  brought  along,  and 
built  the  house  you  slept  in  last  night.  Since  then  she 
has  been  so  disagreeable  that  Biggs  is  seldom  at  home,  and 
won't  see  her  when  he  is.  Did  you  see  his  wife  ?  " 

I  replied  that  I  had  been  denied  that  pleasure. 

"  You  would  have  seen  a  sight  if  you  had ;  a  woman 
who  hasn't  combed  her  hair  for  six  years,  because  she 
has  that  old  hen  to  look  after,  besides  the  care  of  the  chiL 
dren.  I  don't  believe  she  ever  sleeps ;  for  if  I  wake  up 
in  the  night  she  is  either  being  railed  at  by  that  she  devil 
or  is  up  with  the  children.  I  believe  she  is  the  only  per 
son  living  whose  lot  is  worse  than  mine.  When  I  am  in 
the  field  I  am  out  of  my  misery,  but  she  never  has  that 
opportunity  of  escaping  hers.  When  Agnes  is  away  1 
often  cook  my  own  meals,  and  I  am  the  only  one  besides 
Agnes  that  pays  her  any  attention.  Except  to  keep  a 
family  of  children  around  her,  I  think  Biggs  never  notices 
her ;  and  when  he  is  at  home  he  occupies  a  room  away 
from  the-  noise  and  confusion.  But  she  is  patient,  and 
never  complains,  although  there  is  no  hope ;  for  the  old 
woman  will  outlive  us  all.  She  lives  on  growling  and 
gnunbliiig,  for  she  is  afraid  to  eat  for  fear  of  poison,  and 
hesitates  to  sleep  for  visions  of  strangling.  She  talk* 
tbout  poisoning  and  strangling  for  hours  at  a  stretch,  and 
•ocanes  the  Biggsee  of  wanting  to  murder  her,  because 


A  MEMBER  OF  THE  LEGISLATURE.  91 


ihe  knows  it  humiliates  them.  I  hear  that  her  late 
baml  was  a  fine  fellow,  a  sea  captain.  He  was  a  very 
§ensible  man,  I  judge,  for  he  drowned  himself  rather  than 
live  with  her.  I  think  a  great  deal  of  Captain  Deming'a 
memory  ;  he  is  the  only  great  man  I  know  even  by  repu 
tation.  Here  's  to  him." 

He  pulled  another  cork,  which  appeared  to  come  with 
difficulty,  and  thumped  on  his  jaws  to  represent  the  gar. 
gling  of  liquor  as  it  flows  out  of  the  bottle. 

"  Agnes  is  like  him.  It  will  be  a  great  relief  to  her  to 
go  home  with  you.  Does  she  ever  talk  of  her  mother  ?  " 

"  No,"  I  answered. 

"  I  thought  not  ;  nor  does  she  ever  talk  of  the  Devil. 
But  I  '11  be  bound  she  talks  a  great  deal  of  her  father.  I 
think  Agnes  will  never  marry,  preferring  to  remain  an  old 
maid  rather  than  introduce  a  husband  to  her  mother  ;  and 
I  don't  blame  her.  She  complains  during  the  few  weeks 
that  the  poor  girl  is  at  home  because  Agnes  is  not  away 
earning  money  for  her  strong-box,  into  which  goes  every 
dollar  of  it.  If  Agnes  has  any  money,  Biggs  gives  it  to 
her  ;  for  she  has  to  account  for  every  penny  of  her  earn 
ings  to  her  mother,  who  says  she  needs  that,  and  more,  to 
buy  something  decent  to  wear.  She  talks  a  great  deal 
about  having  nothing  decent  to  wear,  as  if  anything  would 
look  well  on  her  angular  old  bones  except  a  shroud." 

"  What  does  Biggs  do  for  a  living  ?  "  I  asked,  anxious 
to  know  as  much  about  the  family  as  possible. 

"  To  be  candid  with  you,"  Big  Adam  replied,  in  a  con- 
fidential  way,  "  I  don't  know  ;  although  he  has  some  way 
of  making  money,  for  he  always  has  it.  He  organizes  the 
farmers  for  one  thing,  and  is  a  member  of  the  Legislature 
for  another.  Once  he  started  a  Farmers'  Store  here,  at  9 
place  over  in  the  hills  there,"  pointing  in  the  direction 
u  where  the  roads  cross,  and  where  the  Smoky  Hill  post- 


92  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

bffice  is  kept.  He  told  the  people  they  must  organize  foi 
protection,  and  he  somehow  made  them  agree  to  patron 
ize  his  store  if  he  would  start  one.  They  were  honest 
men  who  made  the  agreement,  and  lived  up  to  it  a  long 
while ;  but  in  time  they  found  out  that  he  was  charging 
them  a  great  deal  more  for  his  goods  than  the  dangerous 
men  he  had  warned  them  against  in  town.  I  was  in  the 
place  when  they  came  in  to  hang  him ;  and  one  man  walked 
up  to  the  rope-reel,  and  wanted  to  know  how  much  rope 
would  be  necessary.  But  Biggs  made  them  a  speech  from 
a  vinegar  barrel,  and  so  worked  upon  their  feelings  that 
they  went  away  content  with  the  harmless  revenge  of  call 
ing  him  a  little  whiffet.  Biggs  put  me  in  charge,  and 
galloped  away  to  find  a  purchaser  for  his  store.  He  found 
one  by  representing  that  an  entire  neighborhood  of  fools 
had  signed  an  agreement  to  pay  him  in  cash  whatever  price 
he  asked  for  his  goods.  The  purchaser  wanted  to  shoot 
Biggs  when  he  found  out  how  matters  really  stood  —  for 
he  had  paid  a  big  price  —  but  for  some  reason  he  changed 
his  mind.  Biggs  is  that  kind  of  man.  Now  you  know  as 
much  about  him  as  I  do." 

As  though  he  had  been  idling  away  too  much  time 
already,  Big  Adam  began  to  work  with  great  energy,  and 
refused  to  talk  any  more,  so  I  put  the  horses  to  the  wagon 
alone ;  but  after  I  had  driven  through  the  gate  and  into  the 
road  he  came  out  as  if  there  was  one  word  more  he  desired 
to  say,  and  lifting  himself  up  by  putting  one  foot  on  the 
wheel,  he  whispered  in  my  ear :  — 

"My  father  was  killed  by  the  Indians." 

He  looked  so  distressed  that  I  expressed  some  sort  of 
regret,  and  said  it  was  a  pity. 

"  Good-bye,"  he  added,  giving  me  his  hand ;  "  my  last 
Dame  is  Casebolt.  My  mother  is  married  the  second 
sime.w 


BEAUTY  IN  DISTRESS.  98 

I  shook  his  great  fat  hand  again,  and  he  went  back  to 
his  work.  Driving  round  to  the  front  of  the  house  I  found 
Agnes  waiting  for  me,  and,  lifting  her  little  trunk  into  the 
wagon,  we  drove  away,  no  one  appearing  at  the  doors  or 
windows  to  bid  her  good-bye.  My  mother  had  told  me 
to  invite  Mrs.  Deming  to  visit  her,  but  out  of  regard  for 
Agnes  I  resolved  to  say  that  I  had  forgotten  it.  As  we 
went  past  the  stables  Big  Adam  motioned  for  me  to  stop, 
and  raising  himself  up  beside  me  by  putting  his  foot  on 
the  wheel  again,  he  whispered,  — 

"  My  brothers  and  sisters  are  all  dead." 

He  stepped  down  from  the  wheel ;  and  putting  the  whip 
to  the  horses  I  soon  left  the  place  behind  me. 

I  saw  that  Agnes  had  been  crying,  for  her  eyes  were 
red  and  swollen;  but  I  pretended  not  to  notice  it,  and 
hoped  her  spirits  would  revive  as  we  neared  Fair- 
view. 

"You  will  excuse  me,  Ned,"  she  said,  after  we  had 
driven  a  long  time  in  silence,  "  if  I  have  neglected  you, 
but  I  have  not  been  myself  for  several  days.  Big  Adam 
talks  a  great  deal,  and  I  saw  you  down  in  the  yard  with 
him  a  long  while.  You  should  not  believe  all  he  says.  I 
am  unhappy  on  my  own  account." 

I  did  not  know  what  to  say  in  reply,  for  I  was  anxious 
for  her  to  believe  that  I  thought  her  mother  was  not  at 
home,  or  something  of  that  sort ;  so  I  jerked  one  of  the 
horses  roughly,  and  said  "  Whoa,"  as  if  the  animal  were 
oreparing  to  run  away.  I  knew  she  was  distressed  that 
I  knew  how  unhappy  she  was  at  home,  and  was  trying  to 
ay  the  blame  on  herself,  as  she  did  in  everything ;  there 
fore  I  watched  the  dangerous  horse  very  intently  for  sev 
eral  minutes,  and  finally  got  down  to  walk  around  the 
wagon,  to  see  if  anything  was  wrong.  After  I  had 
oounded  the  tires  awhile  with  a  stone,  although  thej 


94  THE  STOKY   OF   A   COUNTRY  TOWN. 

were  new,  I  climbed  back  into  my  seat,  and  we  drove  on 
again. 

"  The  people  of  Fairview  have  been  very  kind  to  me," 
Agnes  continued,  not  minding  that  I  did  not  care  to  talk 
on  the  subject,  "  and  I  have  been  happier  there  than  here ; 
although  it  is  very  ungrateful  in  me,  and  a  poor  return 
for  the  patient  way  in  which  they  bear  with  me  at  home. 
I  am  so  wicked  and  selfish." 

The  tears  came  into  her  eyes  as  she  spoke,  and  I  won 
dered  whether  it  was  wrong  to  tell  white  lies,  for  I  was 
sure  Agnes  was  fibbing  in  defence  of  her  family.  She 
thought  about  the  matter  a  long  time  after  that,  and 
looked  at  me  narrowly,  —  although  I  pretended  not  to 
know  it,  —  and  seemed  to  conclude  at  last  that  I  had  made 
good  use  of  my  time  with  Big  Adam,  and  that  she  must 
depend  upon  the  charity  of  my  silence.  Any  way,  she 
said  no  more  upon  the  subject,  and  we  rode  in  silence  for 
several  miles. 

"  You  have  always  taken  a  great  interest  in  my  father," 
she  said,  at  last,  wiping  her  eyes,  and  dismissing  the  un 
pleasant  subject.  k'I  have  brought  you  his  picture  as  a 
present." 

She  took  it  out  of  a  little  package  she  carried,  and  gave 
it  to  me.  It  was  a  handsome  face,  and  looked  very  much 
as  I  had  imagined,  except  that  it  was  clean-shaven.  I  put 
it  away  carefully,  and  she  said  :  — 

"My  life  would  have  been  very  different  had  he  lived, 
and  I  should  not  have  been  so  unkind  to  every  one.  He 
was  always  so  brave  and  good  that  I  should  have  striven 
to  be  like  him,  for  everybody  loved  him.  But  he  is  dead, 
and  I  cannot  be  content  without  him.  It  is  this  that  makes 
me  fretful,  and  unworthy  of  my  many  good  friends.  Oh 
•\ear,  I  am  going  to  cry." 

She  did  cry  again,  apologizing  for  it  in  a  way  that  re- 


WHEN   THE   SEA   GIVES    UP   ITS   DEAD.  95 

minded  me  of  her  uncle ;  and  I  sat  there  feeling  like  a 
fool  while  she  was  giving  vent  to  her  grief,  and  until  she 
had  regained  her  self-possession  once  more. 

"  I  am  sorry  I  did  not  see  him  buried,  and  that  he  did 
not  have  a  quiet  place  to  rest,"  Agnes  continued,  wiping 
her  eyes ;  "  for  I  dream  at  night  of  his  storm-tossed  ship, 
and  always  think  of  the  sea  as  forever  rolling  and  tossing 
his  poor  body  about,  refusing  it  rest  and  peace.  Often  in 
the  wicked  waves  I  see  his  white  face  turned  imploringly 
to  me,  and  the  noises  of  the  night  I  torture  into  his  cries 
to  me  for  help.  If  I  knew  where  he  was  buried,  and 
could  sometimes  visit  his  grave,  I  should  be  more  content, 
and  less  unhappy." 

I  had  heard  a  song  called  "  When  the  Sea  gives  up  its 
Dead,"  and  without  thinking  what  I  did  I  softly  hummed  it. 

"When  he  came  home  at  the  time  I  saw  him  last,  he 
carried  me  about  in  his  great  strong  arms  along  the  beach, 
and  said  that  if  some  day  he  never  came  back,  for  me  not 
to  dislike  the  sea,  for  it  had  been  his  friend  in  many  a 
storm,  and  had  rocked  him  to  sleep  almost  every  night 
since  he  was  born.  '  It  will  never  prove  treacherous,'  he 
said.  *  My  ship  may,  but  never  the  sea.  The  "  Agnes  "  is 
not  like  the  stout  girl  in  whose  honor  she  was  named ; 
she  is  getting  old,  and  should  she  founder  with  me  in  the 
storms,  and  go  down,  never  feel  unkindly  toward  the  sea. 
It  has  been  my  friend  so  many  years  that  should  it  swal 
low  me  up  I  desire  you  to  think  that  I  deserved  it.'  He 
went  away  soon  after  that,  and  we  have  never  seen  him 
since." 

Although  the  tears  came  into  her  eyes  again,  she  bravely 
wipr  A  tbem  away. 

"I  am  sorry  for  you,"  I  made  bold  to  say,  looking  at 
her  pretty  face.  "  I  wish  I  were  a  man,  and  old  enough  ; 
I  would  marry  you,  and  make  you  happy  in  spite  of  your- 


96  THE   STORY   OF   A   COUNTRY   TOWN. 

6elf.  I  cannot  tell  you  how  much  I  desire  your  good,  or 
how  much  I  love  you.  Your  presence  at  our  house  has 
made  us  a  different  family.  My  mother  is  more  content, 
and  my  father  less  gloomy ;  and  surely  Jo  and  I  know 
more  since  you  came.  I  love  you  because  you  are  good 
and  pretty,  and  I  think  you  are  prettier  to-day  than  I 
have  ever  seen  you  before.  If  I  were  a  little  older  I 
would  fall  in  love  with  you,  and  worry  you  a  greal  deal 
with  my  attentions." 

"  It  would  n't  worry  me,  Ned,"  she  answered,  with  a  re 
turn  of  her  old  cheerfulness.  "  I  should  like  it.  But  I 
thought  you  were  in  love  with  me." 

"  Oh,  I  am,  of  course  —  as  a  boy,"  I  answered  ;  "  but  I 
mean  if  I  were  a  man.  If  you  should  concentrate  the 
love  you  distribute  in  Fairview  on  one  man,  I  should  like 
to  be  the  man.  That 's  what  I  mean.  You  love  every 
body  in  Fairview  just  alike." 

"  I  am  not  so  certain  of  that,"  she  replied.  "  I  think  I 
am  very  partial  to  you.  Who  is  most  gallant  and  thought 
ful  to  me  of  all  my  pupils  ?  Why,  you  are,  of  course ; 
and  I  love  you  best  of  any  of  them.  When  I  get  to  be 
an  old  woman,  and  you  a  young  man,  I  shall  show  my 
love  for  you  by  selecting  you  a  wife  ;  and  if  I  am  unable 
to  find  you  a  very  good  one,  you  shall  remain  single,  as  I 
intend  to  do.  I  regard  you  as  my  best  friend,  and  I  want 
you  to  think  so.  When  you  came  yesterday,  I  wanted 
to  run  down  and  kiss  you,  but  I  could  not  leave  my 
mother." 

"But  you  never  have  kissed  me,"  I  said,  "although 
you  say  you  love  me." 

"  I  will  now,  if  you  will  let  me,"  she  replied,  and  put 
ting  her  arms  round  me,  she  kissed  me  as  innocently  as 
vf  I  had  been  a  child.  I  was  very  much  abashed  but 
thanked  her  as  for  any  other  favor. 


AN   EARLY   CONFIDENCE.  97 

"  You  are  the  first  girl  that  ever  kissed  me,"  I  said. 

"  Well,  let  me  be  the  last  one,  unless  I  should  want 
to  kiss  you  again.  But  we  are  in  sight  of  Fairview, 
and  while  we  are  alone,  I  want  to  tell  you  about  Big 
Adam.  His  father  is  an  outlaw,  living  somewhere  in  the 
great  West ;  and,  although  he  occasionally  comes  to 
Smoky  Hill,  it  is  always  at  night.  His  mother  is  a  rough 
woman  who  smokes  and  drinks,  and  his  brothers  and  sis 
ters  are  very  bad  people.  I  don't  know  where  they  all 
live,  though  I  frequently  hear  of  them,  but  never  any 
thing  to  their  credit.  It  is  said  that  his  mother's  house, 
which  is  situated  in  a  deep  hollow  near  the  river,  is  a 
rendezvous  for  bad  men,  and  frequently  it  is  raided  by 
the  officers  looking  for  her  bold  husband.  Big  Adam  is 
the  only  honest  one  among  them,  and  that  is  why  he  says 
they  are  all  dead ;  but  even  he  talks  too  much." 

I  knew  she  wanted  me  to  believe  that  he  had  misrepre 
sented  her  family,  though  she  was  certain  he  had  not ; 
therefore  I  only  said  that  Fairview  church  looked  very 
pretty  from  the  high  point  over  which  the  road  led  us. 
I  had  never  thought  so  before,  but  the  country  surround 
ing  it  was  much  finer  than  the  Smoky  Hill  district,  and  I 
began  to  think  that  if  I  could  travel  more  I  might  grow 
more  content  with  my  own  home. 

Our  house  was  built  in  a  rather  low  place,  and  I  noticed 
with  surprise,  what  I  had  not  had  opportunity  of  noticing 
before,  that  a  great  many  new  fields  were  being  opened 
in  different  directions.  Fairview  was  quietly  and  rapidly 
settling  up. 

"  Anything  Big  Adam  may  have  said  to  you,"  Agnes 
said  as  we  were  nearing  the  house,  "  is  to  be  private  be 
tween  you  and  me." 

I  readily  promised,  though  I  had  been  thinking  but  a 
moment  before  of  adding  largely  to  it,  and  astonishing  Jo, 


98  THE  STORY   OF   A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

"  Since  we  are  good  friends  we  must  have  our  secrets, 
and  this  is  our  first  one.  You  may  tell  Jo  that  I  kissed 
you." 

I  blushed  because  she  had  divined  that  I  intended  to 
tell  him  about  her  mother,  but  comforted  myself  with 
the  reflection  that  she  could  not  know  for  a  certainty. 

My  mother  was  waiting  for  us ;  and  the  place  was  so 
quiet  and  pleasant,  and  the  late  dinner  she  had  prepared 
so  good,  that  I  began  to  feel  like  a  very  favored  fellow. 
Jo  and  the  man  of  the  house  were  away  somewhere,  and 
we  spent  the  afternoon  like  three  happy  children,  sud 
denly  free  from  some  exacting  restraint.  Agnes  and  I 
made  so  much  of  my  mother,  that  I  remember  her  as 
being  happier  on  that  day  than  any  other,  and  when  I  think 
of  her  now,  so  long  after,  I  am  glad  that  it  is  as  she  sat  in 
her  easy  chair  between  us  that  afternoon,  saying  little, 
but  looking  content  and  happy. 


CHAPTER  X. 

JO   SEEING   MAKES    A   FULL   CONFESSION. 

INASMUCH  as  that  young  man  continued  to  haul 
stone  to  Erring's  Ford  for  a  dam,  and  would  talk  of 
nothing  else,  it  became  certain,  in  course  of  time,  that 
Jo  would  never  make  a  farmer ;  so  it  was  agreed,  at  a 
convention  attended  by  my  father  and  my  grandmother, 
that  he  should  be  apprenticed  for  two  years  to  Damon 
Barker,  of  the  establishment  on  Bull  River.  Barker  had 
suggested  it,  I  believe,  as  he  needed  some  one  to  assist 
him,  and  was  much  pleased  with  Jo  besides,  who  had  al 
ready  learned  to  help  him  in  many  ways  during  visits  to 
the  place.  These  visits  were  allowed  to  become  frequent 
and  protracted  when  it  was  decided  that  he  should  be 
sent  there  to  learn  milling  as  a  business.  When  it  was 
announced  to  Jo  that  the  arrangement  had  been  made  — 
it  was  one  Sunday  afternoon  —  he  took  me  out  to  the 
hayloft  of  the  stable  to  talk  about  it. 

"  I  am  to  be  given  a  chance,"  he  said,  "  and  that  is  all 
I  ask.  I  intend  to  work  hard,  and  at  the  end  of  two 
years  I  shall  be  in  position  to  commence  my  mill  in  ear 
nest.  I  am  seventeen  years  old  now ;  I  shall  be  nineteen 
then,  and  by  the  time  I  am  twenty-one,  '  Erring's  Mill ' 
will  be  in  operation.  It  seems  a  very  long  time  to  wait, 
and  a  big  undertaking,  but  it  is  the  best  I  can  do." 

He  was  lying  on  his  back,  looking  through  the  holes  in 
the  roof  at  the  sky,  and  I  thought  more  than  ever  that  he 
was  brave  and  capable,  and  that  he  had  always  been 

99 


100  THE   STORY   OF    A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

treated  unjustly  in  Fairview.  I  was  thinking — it  had 
not  occurred  to  me  before  —  that  I  should  be  very  lone 
some  without  him ;  and  he  seemed  to  be  thinking  of  it, 
too,  for  he  said  :  — 

"  But  it  is  only  for  three  or  four  years,  Ned,"  as  if  we 
had  been  talking  instead  of  thinking  of  the  separation, 
"  and  at  the  end  of  that  time  I  may  be  able  to  make  you 
my  assistant,  or,  better  still,  my  partner.  We  have  had  a 
very  wretched  time  of  it  in  the  past,  but  there  may  be  a 
great  deal  of  pleasure  in  store  for  us  in  the  future.  If  we 
work  as  hard  as  we  expect,  I  believe  everything  will  come 
out  right  yet.  They  say  you  are  old  of  your  age.  I  am 
not  old  of  my  age ;  on  the  other  hand  I  am  very  dull :  but 
I  shall  be  a  man  then,  and  in  any  event  one  need  not  be 
old  to  be  useful.  People  here  think  differently,  but  it  is 
because  the  community  is  slow  and  ignorant.  Here  the 
man  who  owns  a  piece  of  land  and  a  team  is  supposed  to 
have  accomplished  all  that  it  is  possible  for  a  man  to  ac 
complish  ;  but  Barker  told  me  once  that  there  are  men  who 
make  a  Fairview  fortune  in  a  day.  I  don't  want  to  be 
like  the  people  here,  for  none  of  them  are  contented  or 
happy ;  but  I  intend  to  be  like  the  people  who  I  am  cer 
tain  live  in  other  countries.  I  cannot  believe  but  that 
there  is  a  better  way  to  live  than  that  accepted  at  Fair- 
view,  and  that  somewhere  —  I  don't  know  where,  for  I 
have  never  travelled  —  happy  homes  may  be  found,  and 
contented  people,  where  parents  love  their  children,  and 
where  people  love  their  homes.  Therefore  I  shall  begin 
differently,  and  work  harder,  and  to  more  purpose,  than 
the  people  here  have  done,  to  the  end  that  I  may  be  a 
different  man." 

Heaven  help  you,  Jo,  in  that.  There  never  was  a  happy 
man  in  Fairview,  and  I  hoped  with  all  my  heart  that  Jo 
might  become  one,  as  he  deserved. 


JO'S   TROUBLES.  101 


"I  have  always  been  lonely  and  friendless,"  he  went  on. 
"They  never  wanted  me  at  home;  your  father  never 
seemed  satisfied  with  me  here,  and,  excepting  you,  I  have 
never  had  a  friend  in  my  life.  I  care  nothing  for  my 
family;  I  fear  it  is  sad  depravity,  but  I  cannot  help  it. 
They  have  never  treated  me  well,  and  care  nothing  for 
me,  and  I  cannot  feel  kindly  toward  them,  for  no  one  can 
love  without  a  reason.  You  do  not  fall  in  love  with  the 
woman  that  wounds  you,  but  you  do  fall  in  love  with  the 
woman  that  is  kind  to  you.  I  think  a  great  deal  of  you, 
but  you  gave  me  reason  for  it  by  thinking  a  great  deal  of 
me.  I  never  knew  until  I  thought  of  going  away  how 
much  I  did  think  of  you." 

He  talked  so  pitifully  of  the  neglect  to  which  he  had 
always  been  subject,  and  I  knew  so  well  it  was  true,  that 
I  could  only  reply  through  my  tears  that  he  was  my  best 
friend,  and  that  I  thought  more  of  him  than  any  one  else 
in  the  world. 

"While  they  all  occasionally  have  kind  words  for 
others,  they  never  have  a  word  of  encouragement  for  mer 
but  I  am  glad  that  I  did  not  deserve  it.  I  should  hate  to 
feel  that  I  deserve  all  the  unkindness  I  have  received 
here,  and  that  I  was  as  idle  and  unworthy  as  they  seem 
to  think  me ;  but  I  never  did,  and  I  hope  you  honestly 
think  so.  You  are  the  only  one  among  them  who  was 
fair  and  just,  and  after  I  have  gone  away  I  shall  only  have 
you  to  remember  pleasantly.  I  am  glad  that  I  am  going 
to  a  place  at  last  where  I  shall  be  welcome  and  useful." 

I  thought  that  afternoon  that  all  of  them  were  unjust 
to  Jo  and  steadily  refused  to  give  him  the  credit  he 
deserved ;  I  think  so  now,  a  great  many  years  after,  with 
a  maturer  mind  and  greater  experience. 

"We  have  been  very  ignorant  here,  you  and  I."  It 
was  very  disgraceful,  but  very  true.  "Your  father  »« 


102  THE   STQR.Y   OF   A   COUNTRY 


wise  enough,  but  as  he  takes  no  pains  to  impart  it  to 
others,  we  have  had  little  benefit  of  his  wisdom.  For  the 
next  two  years  I  shall  live  with  a  man  who  is  educated, 
and  who  will  willingly  teach  me,  and  I  intend  to  tax  his 
patience  with  my  studies.  Barker  is  not  only  learned, 
but  he  is  courteous,  and  I  can  learn  something  of  polite 
manners.  He  bows  like  a  king ;  only  a  very  few  men  are 
able  to  make  a  really  good  bow.  I  asked  him  once  where 
he  learned  it,  but  he  only  laughed,  and  said  everyone 
ought  to  be  polite  without  learning  it  anywhere.  It  made 
me  ashamed,  for  politeness  never  came  natural  with  me. 
Perhaps  I  am  so  awkward  because  I  do  not  come  of  a 
good  family." 

Certainly  his  father  and  mother  were  not  polite  to  each 
other,  or  to  their  son. 

"  I  have  made  many  terrible  mistakes  from  not  know 
ing  any  better,  and  they  will  humiliate  me  all  my  life. 
Once  I  went  with  your  mother  to  call  at  the  new  minis 
ter's  —  this  is  in  the  strictest  confidence,  and  never  to  be 
repeated  —  and  I  did  a  thing  so  dreadful  that  I  am  blush 
ing  now  in  thinking  of  it.  I  wore  a  little  cap  (I  have 
since  burned  it),  and  although  I  know  now  it  was  hide 
ously  ugly,  I  thought  then  that  it  made  me  very  hand  • 
some.  I  bought  it  of  a  boy  who  had  lived  in  town,  and  1 
had  seen  town  boys  wear  them.  So  I  shuffled  into  their 
parlor  wearing  your  father's  boots,  with  a  pair  of  his 
pantaloons  tucked  into  their  tops,  and  the  cap  on  my 
head.  The  Shepherds  are  very  well-bred  people,  and 
after  I  had  stumbled  across  the  room,  and  fallen  into  a 
chair  all  in  a  heap,  Mateel  —  how  pretty  she  was  that 
night,  and  how  pretty  she  always  is !  —  came  over  to  me, 
and  asked  to  lay  away  my  cap.  I  thought  it  very  amiable 
in  me  not  to  trouble  her,  so  I  refused  to  give  it  up.  ID 
fact,  I  said :  — 


BUCOLIC  MANNERS.  103 

"'NO,  I  THANK  YOU;  I  AM  VERY  COMFUBTABLE  AS  I 
AM!' 

"And  I  sat  the  entire  evening  through  with  that  cap  on 
my  head.  Nobody  had  ever  told  me  to  remove  my  cap 
in  the  presence  of  ladies,  and  being  of  a  poor  family,  I  did 
not  know  it  without  being  told.  I  know  better  now,  for 
Barker  laughed  at  me,  and  explained  why  it  was  wrong." 

Under  other  circumstances  I  should  have  laughed,  but 
Jo  was  so  serious  that  I  did  not  think  of  it. 

"  They  asked  me  to  sing ;  simply  to  be  polite,  I  am  now 
certain.  Your  mother  did  not  say  for  me  not  to,  so  I 
stumbled  over  to  the  melodeon,  and  sang  nine  verses  of 
the  4  Glorious  Eighth  of  April '  in  a  voice  so  loud  that 
the  windows  rattled.  They  were  all  blushing  for  me,  but 
I  never  once  suspected  it.  I  had  heard  your  father  sing 
the  same  song  a  hundred  times,  and  I  supposed  it  was  all 
right.  'Is  that  all?'  they  asked  when  I  had  finished. 
I  regretted  that  it  was,  thinking  they  were  entertained, 
a*,d  I  came  very  near  singing  it  all  over  again.  I  told 
Barker  about  it,  and  he  gave  me  lessons  in  propriety  an 
en  tire  afternoon.  I  felt  coming  home  that  I  had  in  some 
way  committed  an  indiscretion,  but  I  could  not  tell  exactly 
what  it  was  until  Barker  pointed  it  out.  He  suggested 
that  I  write  an  apology,  and  as  I  have  it  here,  I  will  read 
it,  if  you  care  to  listen." 

He  took  from  his  pocket  a  neatly  written  note,  and 
after  I  had  signified  an  anxiety  to  know  its  contents,  he 
read :  — • 

"  Miss  SHEPHERD,  —  I  feel  that  my  remarkable  conduct  at  your 
house  a  few  weeks  ago  needs  an  explanation,  and  I  write  this  to 
confess  candidly  that  it  was  caused  by  my  ignorance,  and  should 
not  be  regarded  as  a  lack  of  respect  to  you  or  your  father  and 
mother. 

"  It  is  because  I  have  lived  in  the  backwoods  all  my  ttfe,  and 


104  THE   STORY   OF   A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

because  no  one  ever  took  sufficient  interest  in  me  to  say  that  I 
should  have  removed  my  cap  from  my  head,  but  if  I  am  forgiven, 
and  allowed  to  visit  you  again,  I  will  be  careful  that  there  is  no 
repetition  of  the  offence.  With  reference  to  the  tiresome  song  I 
sang,  I  have  only  the  same  plea ;  I  did  not  know  any  better.  I 
know  now  that  I  cannot  sing;  I  can  only  bellow.  When  I  tell  you 
that  the  noise  I  made  is  regarded  as  music  in  Fairview,  you  will 
realize  more  vividly  than  I  can  tell  you  that  the  community  where 
I  have  grown  up  is  not  cultured.  I  am  distressed  that  I  acted  as  I 
did,  and  hope  you  will  accept  this  humble  apology.  Please  express 
my  regrets  to  your  father  and  mother,  and  regard  this  note  as  in 
confidence. 

"  Very  truly  yours,  Jo  EBBING." 

After  folding  the  note  carefully,  and  putting  it  back  in 
the  envelope  from  which  he  had  taken  it,  he  inquired  :  — - 

"  What  do  you  think  of  it?" 

Knowing  Barker  had  suggested  it,  and  probably  dictated 
the  words,  I  said  it  was  neat  and  appropriate,  and  the 
best  thing  that  could  be  done  under  the  circumstances,  for 
I  had  no  opinion  of  my  own  on  the  delicate  question. 

"They  are  the  only  well-bred  people  I  have  ever 
known,  if  I  except  Barker  and  Agnes,"  Jo  said,  after  a 
V>ng  silence,  "and  though  I  should  like  to  visit  them 
often,  I  am  afraid  I  can  never  get  the  courage  to  go  there 
again.  They  have  undoubtedly  a  poor  opinion  of  me,  for 
they  can  never  understand  how  a  young  man  of  my  age 
could  be  so  uncouth,  but  other  families  of  good  manners 
will  perhaps  come  to  Fairview,  and  I  intend  to  take 
lessons  from  Barker,  and  cultivate  their  acquaintance.  I 
have  great  respect  for  polished  people,  but  I  never 
admired  a  quality  in  others  that  I  did  not  lack  it  myself, 
therefore  I  fear  I  shall  -make  but  poor  progress.  But  this 
is  a  small  matter  compared  with  learning  the  mill  busi 
ness.  Perhaps  I  had  better  renounce  society  until  I  am 
the  best  miller  on  the  river." 


LONELY  AN&  HOMELESS.  105 

^It  won't  be  long,  Jo,"  I  answered,  and  feeling  that 
what  I  said  was  true. 

"  Barker  says  he  can  teach  me  all  he  knows  in  half  a 
year.  After  that,  I  will  experiment  for  myself,  and  per 
haps  I  may  be  able  to  discover  something  which  will  repay 
him  for  his  kindness  to  me.  If  I  am  apt  at  anything— 
which  I  sometimes  doubt  —  it  is  with  machinery,  and 
there  is  so  little  of  it  at  Barker's  that  I  hope  I  will  be 
able  to  master  it  all  in  a  few  months.  I  am  familiar  with 
all  of  it  now,  and  I  shall  work  very  hard  until  I  can  take 
it  all  apart,  and  put  it  together  again  better  than  it  was 
before." 

We  were  both  quiet  a  long  while,  busy  with  our  own 
thoughts,  until  Jo  said  :  — 

"  I  am  going  away  to-morrow.  When  are  you  coming 
to  see  me  ?  " 

I  had  it  in  my  mind  to  say,  "  On  Tuesday,"  but  as  that 
would  be  the  next  day  after  his  departure,  and  impossible, 
I  said  instead  that  I  would  come  as  soon  as  I  could ;  cer 
tainly  not  later  than  that  day  a  week. 

"  I  shall  be  very  busy,  and  lonely,  too,  and  I  hope  you 
will  come  often.  You  have  n't  been  out  of  my  sight  more 
than  a  day  at  a  time  since  you  were  born,  and  you  are  the 
only  brother  I  ever  had.  I  don't  intend  to  come  here 
much,  and  as  you  enjoy  visiting  at  Barker's  we  will 
arrange  it  in  that  way.  They  will  perhaps  tolerate  me 
here  once  in  a  long  while,  to  see  if  I  have  cut  off  any  of 
my  fingers  in  the  cog-wheels,  but  for  no  other  reason.  I 
have  been  an  intruder  ever  since  I  can  remember,  and 
lonely  and  homeless." 

I  felt  that  this  was  true,  unjust  and  cruel  as  it  was,  and 
could  say  nothing,  although  Jo  spoke  of  it  in  a  husky 
voice,  as  though  it  would  be  a  relief  to  cry  if  it  were  not 
unmanly. 


106  THE  STORY   OF   A  COUNTRY   TOWN. 

"  Your  mother  has  been  kinder  to  me  than  any  of  them, 
if  I  except  Agnes,  who  is  the  friend  of  every  one,  but  her 
health  has  always  been  poor,  and  she  has  a  great  deal  to 
do.  She  often  comes  into  my  room  at  night,  if  she  sus 
pects  that  I  am  not  well,  and  asks  if  she  can  do  anything 
for  me ;  but  I  know  she  is  always  tired,  and  I  feel  more 
like  helping  her  than  allowing  her  to  help  me.  I  shall 
always  remember  her  gratefully  for  it,  and  believe  that 
were  she  less  unhappy  herself  we  would  have  been  a 
different  family." 

The  mention  of  Agnes  reminded  me  that  she  had  pre 
sented  me  with  her  father's  picture,  and  taking  it  from 
my  pocket  I  gave  it  to  Jo,  but  he  did  not  care  to  look  at 
it  then,  and  said  he  would  take  it,  and  give  it  back  at 
some  future  time. 

"Your  father  is  never  unkind  to  her,"  he  continued, 
determined  to  talk  on  that  subject,  "  but  they  are  more 
like  strangers  than  man  and  wife.  They  have  not  occu 
pied  the  same  room  for  years,  therefore  she  is  always 
striving  to  reconcile  him,  knowing  that  he  is  discontented 
and  dissatisfied,  though  I  cannot  see  that  she  is  to  blame 
for  it,  and  as  a  true  woman  —  and  she  is  one,  if  ever  one 
lived  —  this  makes  her  very  unhappy.  I  know  less  of 
your  father  every  day,  and  I  fear  that  something  unfor 
tunate  will  come  of  his  discontent.  I  hope  it  will  not 
turn  out  that  religion  is  a  bad  thing  for  him,  as  Barker 
predicts.  I  never  mentioned  it  to  you  before,  but  the 
night  you  were  away  your  mother  came  softly  into  our 
room,  and  asked  why  I  had  gone  to  bed  so  early.  I  said 
I  was  unusually  tired,  and  that  I  had  to  get  up  very  early 
in  the  morning ;  nothing  more  than  that.  She  remained 
there  for  two  hours,  as  if  anxious  to  be  with  me,  and 
there  was  enough  light  in  the  room  for  me  to  see  that 
tears  were  in  her  eyes,  and  that  she  was  in  great  distress. 


LOVE  AND  DISCIPLINE.  107 

"  <  Since  six  o'clock,'  she  said  to  me,  <  my  husband  has 
not  changed  his  position,  or  spoken.  It  is  his  habit  every 
night.  He  is  always  thinking,  and  always  silent  and 
discontented.  If  I  knew  what  his  trouble  is,  perhaps  I 
could  help  him,  as  I  am  anxious  to  do,  but  he  will  not  tell 
me  (though  I  do  not  ask  him,  for  I  am  afraid).  He 
thinks  all  day  at  his  work,  you  have  told  me,  and  I  believe 
he  thinks  all  night,  for  I  have  known  him  to  get  up  at 
midnight,  and  walk  the  floor  until  day.  He  is  always 
considerate  of  me,  and  never  speaks  unkindly,  but  he  has 
never  been  my  husband  except  in  name,  and  the  fear  that 
I  have  done  something  to  offend  him  makes  me  very 
wretched,  for  I  have  always  tried  to  be  all  that  he 
desired.  There  is  something  dreadfully  portentous  in 
this ;  I  do  not  know  what  it  is,  but  I  am  certain  that  it 
will  finally  make  us  very  miserable. 

"  *  I  have  never  spoken  of  this  before  ;  I  never  intend  to 
speak  of  it  again,  and  I  only  mention  it  now  because  I 
feel  that  I  can  live  but  a  few  years  longer,  and  I  must 
speak  of  it  to  make  clear  a  request  I  have  to  make.  Ned 
is  out  of  the  house  to-night,  and  farther  away  from  me 
then  ever  before  since  he  was  born.  After  you  two  have 
gone  to  sleep  here  in  this  room,  I  always  come  in  to  kiss 
him  good-night.  And,  Jo,  I  frequently  kiss  you,  too. 
Since  he  was  a  baby  in  my  arms,  I  have  never  kissed  him 
except  when  he  was  asleep,  because  his  father  seemed  to 
dislike  such  exhibitions  of  affection.  But  I  come  to  his 
bed  every  night,  and  kiss  him  after  he  has  gone  to  sleep.' 

"  She  cried  softly  to  herself  awhile,  and  remained  so 
quiet  that  I  could  hear  her  tears  fall  in  little  plashes  to 
the  floor. 

"  *  The  request  that  I  have  to  make  is  that  after  I  am 
dead  you  will  tell  him  of  this.  I  have  made  a  mistake  in 
raising  him,  and  I  know  I  should  have  cultivated  his 


108  THE  STORY   OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

affection  for  me  after  he  put  on  boots  and  mittens,  and 
went  out  with  his  father  to  work,  but  I  was  afraid,  for 
none  of  that  is  allowed  in  this  house,  as  you  know.  I  do 
not  feel  free  to  be  kind  to  you,  Jo,  or  show  you  any  at 
tention,  for  fear  my  husband  will  regard  it  as  an  inter 
ference  with  his  discipline,  which  excuse  he  has  used  to 
separate  me  from  my  boy. 

" '  I  know  he  regards  me  as  cold-hearted,  like  his  father, 
but  I  am  not.  I  love  him  as  every  mother  loves  her  only 
child,  but  he  does  not  understand  it,  and  lately  he  avoids 
me  whenever  he  can. 

"  *  You  won't  be  here  long ;  Damon  Barker  wants  you 
to  live  at  the  mill,  and  you  won't  come  back  very  often, 
for  you  have  no  reason  to,  therefore  I  ask  you,  now  that 
I  have  opportunity,  to  tell  Ned  that  I  have  always  loved 
him  as  a  mother  should,  and  that  I  was  indifferent  to  him 
because  his  father  told  me  to  be,  and  said  it  was  for  the 
best.  He  is  getting  to  be  quite  a  boy  now,  and  when  he 
comes  home  tired  and  ill-humored,  I  know  he  thinks  we 
are  unjust  to  make  him  work  so  hard,  but  tell  him,  Jo, 
that  it  is  his  father  who  did  it,  and  that  I  always  protested 
against  it.  I  want  you  to  take  good  care  of  him  after  I 
am  dead,  and  I  believe  you  will,  for  I  can  see  you  are 
very  fond  of  him,  as  he  is  of  you.  I  believe  you  will  both 
become  good  and  intelligent  men  some  day;  men  who 
will  love  your  wives  and  children,  instead  of  treating 
them  as  they  are  treated  in  Fairview,  and  I  want  you  to 
believe  when  you  are  grown  up  that  I  raised  you  as  best 
I  could.  You  have  lived  here  nearly  as  long  as  I  have, 
and  this  is  your  home,  as  well  as  Ned's,  and  if  you  have 
not  been  contented  and  happy,  it  was  not  because  I  did 
not  love  you  both.  I  trusted  too  much  to  another's  judg 
ment,  and  was  afraid  to  do  what  I  felt  I  should  have 
done.  When  you  become  men  you  will  think  a  great 


A  PROMISE   OF  ENCOURAGEMENT. 

deal  of  this  period  in  your  lives,  for  it  is  indelibly  stamped 
on  your  memory  by  its  discomforts,  but  I  hope  you  will 
remember  that  I  was  sick  a  great  deal,  and  could  not  pay 
you  the  attention  I  wanted  to.  Good  night.'  " 

After  wiping  away  our  tears,  for  the  story  affected  us 
both  to  that  extent,  we  resolved  over  and  over  again  to 
be  more  considerate  of  her  in  the  future,  as  we  now  better 
understood  her  strange  disposition  toward  us.  I  do  not 
know  that  we  had  ever  been  more  inconsiderate  than 
other  boys,  but  we  all  seemed  to  be  waiting  at  our  house 
for  an  opportunity  to  get  away,  and  find  more  pleasant 
companions,  which  made  us  unthoughtful  of  each  other, 
and  I  think  it  was  to  this  she  referred  in  her  talk 
with  Jo. 

When  we  went  into  the  house  again,  my  father  was 
sitting  in  his  accustomed  place,  thinking.  He  had  not 
changed  his  position  since  we  went  out  of  the  room,  an 
hour  or  two  before,  and  I  think  he  regretted  he  could  not 
go  out  into  the  fields  and  lose  his  thoughts  in  working. 
He  looked  up  when  we  came  in,  and  addressing  himself 
to  Jo,  said :  — 

"  Are  you  glad  to  go  ?  " 

44  Yes,  sir,"  Jo  promptly  responded. 

This  did  not  seem  to  surprise  him,  and  he  kept  on 
thinking,  as  though  he  might  have  known  it  without 
asking. 

"  I  have  no  doubt  you  think  I  have  been  a  hard  master." 
my  father  said.  "I  have  been,  but  because  I  believed  it 
was  best  to  teach  boys  to  work.  Before  you  reach  my 
Age,  you  will  know  I  was  right,  and  that  the  course  I 
have  pursued  with  you  was  the  best  one.  But  to  show 
you  that  I  am  anxious  for  your  success,  I  offer  to  help 
you  start  the  mill  at  The  Ford,  if  you  apply  yourself  at 
and  give  me  reason  to  believe  that  you  are 


110  THE  STORY   OF   A   COUNTRY   TOWN. 

worthy  and  capable.  Whatever  else  you  may  think  of 
me,  you  know  I  keep  my  word  in  everything.  Bear  this 
in  mind  during  the  next  two  years." 

When  he  began  thinking  again,  I  thought  it  was  that 
although  he  always  did  that  which  was  for  the  best,  he 
was  blamed  for  it,  and  hated. 

"  I  have  no  advice  to  give  you,  because  you  would  take 
nothing  kindly  from  me,  and  because  I  seldom  give  it  to 
anyone.  Every  man  must  advise  himself,  after  he  is  con 
vinced  what  course  he  had  better  pursue.  The  world  is 
full  of  people  giving  good  advice  to  others,  but  I  have 
thought  we  should  all  be  better  off  if  we  would  advise 
ourselves  more,  and  others  less.  If  I  could  take  the  good 
advice  I  am  capable  of  giving,  I  should  have  no  occasion 
to  accept  it  from  others.  The  same  is  true  in  your  case  ; 
advise  yourself,  and  see  that  your  advice  is  good.  I 
believe  you  will  succeed  over  there,  and  I  earnestly  hope 
you  will.  No  more  need  be  said  on  the  subject." 

When  he  began  his  thinking  again,  I  thought  it  was  to 
wonder  why  Jo  should  not  feel  grateful  to  him  now  in 
stead  of  in  the  future  (he  was  sure  he  would  then),  after 
he  was  dead,  and  in  need  of  no  evidence  that  the  course 
he  had  pursued  was  right. 

That  night  I  resolved  to  remain  awake  to  see  if  my 
mother  came  to  me  in  my  room.  She  did  not  disappoint 
me,  and,  coming  in  quietly,  sat  down  on  the  foot  of  the 
bed,  where  she  remained  in  deep  study  a  long  while.  I 
could  not  see  her  face,  but  I  was  certain  it  was  thoughtful 
and  sad,  and  that  she  felt  ill  at  ease,  and  wretched.  The 
moon  was  shining  outside,  and  she  pulled  aside  the  cur 
tain  to  look  at  us.  At  last  she  got  up,  and  bending  over 
the  bed  kissed  me  tenderly.  I  threw  my  arms  about  her 
neck,  and  said :  "  Mother  1 " 


SORROW.  Ill 

She  fell  on  her  knees  beside  the  bed,  and  sobbed  in  such 
distress  that  my  father  heard  her,  and  came  in  hurriedly 
from  the  other  room  to  inquire  what  was  the  matter.  But 
only  her  sobbing  answered  him,  and  speaking  to  her 
tenderly,  as  if  divining  what  had  affected  her,  he  led  her 
away,  with  his  arm  around  her. 

"  Your  father  has  been  thinking  again,"  Jo  said,  as  the 
door  closed  upon  them.  "  I  was  awake,  too.  Ned,  new»r 
keep  anything  from  me  again." 


CHAPTER  XL 

WITH  REFERENCE  TO  A  MAN  WHO  WAS  SENT  WEST  TC 
GROW  UP  WITH  THE  COUNTRY,  OR  GET  KILLED. 

A  FEW  months  after  the  Shepherds  came  to  Fairview. 
and  after  they  had  become  fairly  settled  in  their 
new  home  (they  lived  beyond  Erring's  Ford,  and  on  the 
other  edge  of  the  timber  which  began  there),  a  fellow 
arrived  who  was  thoroughly  disliked  from  the  moment  of 
his  appearance,  because  he  had  an  insolent  manner,  an  in 
solent  walk,  and  was  insolent  in  everything  he  did,  to  say 
nothing  of  his  flashy  dress  and  a  general  air  of  impudence. 
His  name  was  Clinton  Bragg,  and  as  he  appeared  there  in 
company  with  the  Shepherds,  it  was  soon  understood  that 
in  the  country  from  which  they  came  their  families  had 
been  intimate  and  friends.  I  think  he  only  consented  to 
visit  Fairview  church  on  the  Sunday  of  his  first  appear 
ance,  as  a  geologist  consents  to  enter  a  dirty  pit  in  the 
earth,  for  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  curious  specimens  and 
formations,  and  he  regarded  the  people  he  saw,  whom  he 
looked  at  with  a  cool  stare,  as  a  herd  of  peculiar  beasts  or 
a  drove  of  something. 

Mr.  Shepherd  had  applied  himself  with  great  industry 
to  agriculture  —  although  it  was  not  expected  of  him,  as 
his  salary  was  sufficient  for  his  support — but  a  member 
of  the  congregation  had  given  him  the  free  use  of  a  piece 
of  land,  and  he  devoted  certain  hours  of  each  day  to  cul 
tivating  it.  His  appetite  and  strength  (both  of  which  had 
deserted  him  years  before)  had  returned  from  this  exer 
cise,  and  he  progressed  so  well  that  it  was  known  that 
112 


CLINTON  BRAGG.  113 

after  he  had  remained  at  Fairview  as  long  as  the  rules  of 
the  church  allowed,  he  would  give  up  preaching  altogether 
and  follow  agriculture  instead. 

The  people  thought  a  great  deal  of  him,  as  he  was  kind 
and  gentle,  and  preached  a  religion  less  rigorous  than  my 
father's  had  been,  and  they  were  useful  to  him  in  so  many 
ways  that  he  was  greatly  pleased  with  the  people  and  the 
community,  for  I  think  he  had  never  lived  in  a  place  before 
where  he  was  of  so  much  importance.  Therefore  it  was 
plain  that  he  was  annoyed  by  Bragg' s  impertinence,  and 
I  thought  Mateel  and  her  mother  shared  the  feeling.  He 
sat  with  them  during  the  services,  but  went  out  in  a  rude 
way  immediately  after  the  preaching  was  over,  giving  the 
people  to  understand  as  plainly  as  he  could  that  he  thought 
them  inferior.  Through  the  open  door  from  where  I  sat 
I  could  see  him  standing  out  at  the  gate  like  an  evil  spirit? 
and  I  could  not  help  thinking  that  Fairview  was  progress 
ing,  for  all  sorts  of  people  were  coming  in.  I  had  neve/ 
seen  a  man  like  this  one  before,  for  we  knew  by  his  man 
ner  that  he  lived  without  work. 

When  the  people  came  out  he  walked  ahead  of  them( 
as  though  fearing  he  would  be  trampled  upon,  and  seemed 
anxious  to  get  away.  To  this  end  he  unhitched  the  miiv 
ister's  horses,  and,  after  turning  their  heads  homeward, 
sat  holding  them  impatiently,  until  the  family  concluded 
their  greetings  with  those  who  crowded  around  them, 
amusing  himself  by  chewing  bits  of  hay  and  spitting  them 
out  spitefully. 

When  it  was  announced  that  the  family  would  spend 
the  time  at  our  house  until  the  evening  service,  he  was 
evidently  displeased,  as  he  had  probably  thought  to  pass 
a  pleasant  afternoon  at  the  home  of  the  Shepherds'  in 
abusing  the  Fairview  people,  but  though  I  thought  at  first 
he  would  get  out  of  the  wagon,  and  walk  back  to  town, 


Jl4  THE   STORY  OF   A  COUNTRY   TOWN. 

he  seemed  to  reconsider  finally,  as  if  it  was  worth  hio  time 
to  see  how  the  animals  lived. 

All  this  I  imagined  while  looking  at  him,  for  he  said 
nothing,  and  when  I  rode  in  the  seat  in  front  of  him  (which 
I  did  at  the  invitation  of  Mateel)  I  was  certain  he  was 
frowning  all  the  way,  and  thinking  of  me  as  a  fine  speci 
men  for  a  museum.  His  presence  chilled  me,  as  it  did  all 
the  others,  and  I  said  nothing  during  the  ride,  fearing  he 
would  snap  my  head  off.  I  felt,  too,  that,  though  the 
others  disliked  him,  they  were  afraid  of  his  tongue,  should 
he  find  occasion  to  use  it,  and  I  drove  as  rapidly  as  I  could 
to  get  rid  of  him. 

When  he  was  introduced  to  Agnes  he  stared  at  her 
with  cold  surprise,  as  he  would  look  at  a  particular  animal 
in  a  flock  driven  up  for  his  inspection,  should  one  of  them 
prove  finer  than  he  had  expected,  and  Agnes  turned  and  left 
the  room.  Mateel  soon  followed  her,  and  I  thought  that 
she  went  out  to  apologize  for  her  rude  acquaintance.  They 
both  remained  away  until  dinner  was  ready,  and  I  found 
that  they  were  good-naturedly  helping  my  mother,  who 
was  greatly  pleased.  Indeed,  they  all  deserted  Bragg? 
leaving  him  alone  in  the  best  room  a  greater  part  of  the 
time,  my  father  and  Mr.  Shepherd  finding  it  convenient 
to  examine  a  lot  of  young  trees  lately  planted  in  the 
orchard. 

My  grandmother  was  there  that  day,  and  finding  that 
they  were  all  afraid  of  Bragg,  she  went  in  to  keep  him 
company,  and  give  him  to  understand  that  she  was  too  old 
a  bird  to  be  frightened  by  such  a  scarecrow.  After  re 
garding  him  carefully  over  her  spectacles,  first  wiping  the 
glasses,  as  though  that  would  help  her  in  taking  his  mea 
sure,  she  called  me  in,  and  kept  up  an  incessant  rattle  of 
compliments  for  the  splendid  people  of  Fairview,  fre 
quently  denouncing  the  ignorant  upstarts  who  did  not 
like  them. 


A  WELIr-TO-DO  LOAFEB.  116 

Bat  Bragg  paid  not  the  slightest  attention  to  her,  ami 
Kept  looking  out  of  the  window,  first  at  the  church,  and 
then  at  the  fields,  as  though  he  regretted  he  could  not  set 
them  on  fire  by  holding  his  eyes  on  them,  like  a  sun-glass. 
At  dinner  my  grandmother  sat  next  to  him,  and  imposed 
on  him  by  crowding,  and  setting  everything  passed  to  her 
as  far  away  as  possible,  which  affronts  he  pretended  not 
to  notice.  Although  the  others  were  very  good-natured 
at  the  table,  he  remained  indifferent  to  everything,  eating 
whatever  was  offered  as  though  he  was  surprised  to  get  it 
in  such  an  out-of-the-way  place.  I  had  not  yet  heard  him 
speak,  and  began  to  wonder  how  it  would  sound  should 
he  finally  consent  to  favor  us  with  a  word. 

The  good  humor  of  the  others  was  probably  to  show 
Bragg  that  his  ill-nature  was  of  no  consequence,  and  that 
he  was  welcome  to  his  mood,  for  I  had  never  heard  so 
much  laughter  in  that  house  before.  I  was  particularly 
proud  of  Agnes  for  the  many  kind  things  she  managed  to 
Bay  of  Fairview,  though  apparently  without  reference  to 
Bragg.  She  was  superior  to  any  of  them,  and  I  could 
not  help  thinking  it  was  to  the  credit  of  the  country  that 
she  had  lived  there  contentedly  before  they  came.  Al 
though  the  dinner  to  which  he  sat  down  was  better  than 
he  expected,  and  the  people  offering  to  entertain  him 
more  intelligent  —  he  could  not  conceal  his  occasional 
surprise  —  he  would  not  admit  it,  and  maintained  his  in 
solent  silence.  When  he  went  back  into  the  best  room, 
nobody  followed,  and  ho  remained  there  undisturbed, 
except  occasionally  by  my  grandmother,  who  dashed  in 
at  intervals  to  turn  up  her  nose. 

I  learned  somehow  that  Bragg  was  the  spoiled  son  of  a 
well-to-do  family,  and  that  his  father,  after  spending  great 
amounts  of  money  on  his  education,  had  sent  him  West 
U>  grow  np  with  the  country  or  get  killed.  It  was  evi 


116  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

dent  that  he  was  dissipated  —  he  gave  no  particular  evi 
ience  of  it,  but  I  supposed  that  must  be  the  matter  with 
him  —  and  I  remember  thinking  that  the  miller's  sistet 
would  be  glad  to  hear  of  his  arrival,  as  it  would  give  her 
opportunity  to  save  him. 

I  heard  Mr.  Shepherd  say  to  my  father  that  he  was  a 
civil  engineer,  and  would  make  that  his  business  in  Twin 
Mounds,  if  he  concluded  to  do  anything  at  all,  which  wag 
not  decided,  as  his  father  was  rich,  and  would  cheerfully 
supply  him  with  all  he  needed. 

"  He  is  disagreeable  to  me,  and  to  my  family,"  he 
added,  "  but  I  was  a  boy  with  his  father,  and  have  known 
Clinton  ever  since  he  was  born.  He  has  been  headstrong 
and  wilful  all  his  life ;  I  sincerely  hope  his  residence  here 
will  do  him  good.  I  don 't  know  what  his  habits  are,  but 
I  do  know  that  he  has  always  been  a  source  of  worry  and 
trouble  —  at  home,  at  school ;  everywhere.  I  think  if 
there  is  anything  in  him,  it  will  develop  here,  for  I  am 
unable  to  understand  how  any  man  can  remain  idle  in  a 
country  where  there  is  so  much  room  for  action.  He 
intends  to  open  an  office  in  town,  he  says,  and  if  he  is 
competent  and  industrious  there  is  really  no  reason  why 
he  should  not  live  to  make  his  father  proud  of  him.  I 
believe  his  mother  regards  him  as  the  most  wonderful 
young  man  in  the  world,  as  he  is." 

My  father  did  not  reply,  but  I  am  sure  he  was  thinking 
that  Bragg  was  a  very  good  example  of  his  doctrine  that 
an  idle  boy  invariably  grew  up  into  an  idle  and  disagree 
able  man. 

"  He  is  an  only  son,"  Mr.  Shepherd  continued,  "  and 
will  one  day  come  into  possession  of  a  considerable  prop 
erty ;  I  don 't  know  how  much,  for  I  have  a  poor  head  for 
inch  calculations,  but  I  should  say  it  will  be  sufficient  to 
Hake  him  independent  for  the  remainder  of  his  life.  This 


A  *OtJNG  MAN   OF  PROMISE.  117 

la*  been  his  misfortune.  Had  he  been  poor  I  thki  ha 
vrould  have  been  a  better  boy,  but  as  it  is  he  acts  as  hia 
lullen  temper  dictates." 

Barker  had  told  Jo  and  me  so  much  of  rich  people  that 
I  greatly  admired  them,  but  I  could  not  believe  that 
Sragg  was  a  fair  representative  of  the  class,  and  I  learned 
afterwards  that  he  was  hated  at  school  and  at  home 
for  his  meanness,  which  was  the  only  quality  he  culti 
vated. 

While  I  was  looking  at  him,  and  thinking  I  would  get 
Jo  to  knock  him  down  some  day,  Mateel  and  Agnes  came 
around  the  house  with  Damon  Barker,  who  had  evidently 
just  arrived.  He  had  never  met  either  of  them  before, 
but,  on  encountering  them,  introduced  himself  with  the 
easy  grace  for  which  he  was  noted.  Both  had  heard  of 
him,  and  seemed  pleased  to  see  him,  for  they  sat  down 
on  each  side  of  him  on  a  rough  seat  under  an  apple-tree. 
I  went  o^t  to  them  at  once,  and  he  spoke  to  me  in  such  a 
considerate  way  that  I  was  sure  it  would  be  noticed  that 
he  was  my  particular  friend,  which  I  regarded  as  a  cir 
cumstance  very  much  in  my  favor.  He  did  not  treat  me 
as  a  boy,  as  the  others  did,  but  listened  kindly  when  I 
was  talking,  instead  of  waving  me  to  silence  with  hia 
hand,  and  altogether  acted  as  though  I  was  worthy  of  his 
renpect  and  friendship. 

We  all  inquired  about  Jo,  who  had  been  away  several 
weeks,  and  he  replied  so  favorably  that  he  took  another 
itep  forward  in  my  good  opinion.  Jo  was  already  the 
b«st  assistant  he  had  ever  had,  he  said,  and  was  certain 
te»  become  a  remarkable  man. 

"I  have  a  few  books  about  the  house,"  Barker  said. 
*  Jo  devours  them,  and  keeps  me  up  far  into  every  night 
answering  questions.  Next  to  his  ambition  to  learn  all 
there  w  about  the  mill  he  is  ambitious  to  know  all  there 


118  THE  STORY  OF  A  COtJNTEY  TOWN. 

is  in  the  books.  I  think  he  will  succeed  in  both  parties 
Hrs ;  I  was  not  mistaken  in  my  estimate  of  him." 

We  were  all  pleased  to  hear  him  say  this,  and,  though 
not  intending  it,  Mateel  let  it  be  known  that  she  wai 
greatly  interested  in  Jo.  I  hoped  Barker  would  notice 
it,  and  tell  him,  for  it  would  be  a  pleasure  for  him  to 
know  it. 

"  A  boy  apprenticed  on  a  farm  has  very  little  oppor 
tunity  to  learn  anything — I  wonder  that  he  knows  as  much 
as  he  does ;  but  he  is  progressive  and  manly,  and  I  am 
very  much  mistaken  if  his  advancement  is  not  very  rapid 
from  now  on.  He  wants  to  know  about  everything,  and 
I  really  believe  he  could  run  the  mill  very  well  without 
me  now.  He  was  familiar  with  every  part  of  it  before 
he  came  there  to  live,  and  I  suppose  he  is  busy  to-day 
taking  the  machinery  apart  to  look  at  it,  since  I  am  not 
there  to  answer  his  questions  regarding  the  contents  of 
the  books." 

Barker  seemed  to  understand  that  Jo  had  never  been 
appreciated  in  Fairview,  and  was  determined  that  the 
people  should  know  he  was  very  favorably  impressed 
with  him.  I  thought  it  was  very  kind  of  him  to  come  so 
far  to  defend  Jo. 

"A  young  man  ready  to  take  advantage  of  every 
opportunity  is  rare  enough  to  be  remarkable,"  Barker 
continued,  observing  Mateel  very  closely.  "  They  usually 
have  to  be  driven  to  it,  and  encouraged  to  keep  at  it  by 
all  sorts  of  stratagems,  but  Jo  only  asks  opportunity,  and 
goes  at  his  work  with  an  energy  I  greatly  admire.  I 
have  known  hundreds  of  men  who  knew  less  at  middle 
age  than  Jo  knows  at  seventeen,  and  who  were  not  his 
equals  in  whatever  he  attempts.  This  seems  to  have 
been  against  him  here,  but  it  will  btj  to  his  advantage  IB 
oil  aew  place.  But  I  believe  I  have  not  yet  asked  ho* 


AN  EVU   LOO*.  11? 

j ou  liked  Fairview,"  he  abruptly  concluded,  addressing 
Mateel. 

She  replied  very  much  as  a  polite  woman  should  —  that 
while  it  was  not  possible  that  she  could  positively  say  on 
BO  short  an  acquaintance,  she  believed  she  would  become 
entirely  content  with  it  in  tune. 

"  I  have  lived  here  contentedly  enough  a  good  many 
years,"  Barker  replied,  "  with  few  acquaintances  and  fewer 
friends.  The  country  is  very  fair.  I  know  little  enough 
of  the  people,  but  no  one  is  crowded  here.  There  is  room 
enough  for  everybody,  and  there  are  splendid  opportuni 
ties  to  be  let  alone.  There  is  a  good  deal  in  that." 

In  her  dependent,  uncertain  way,  Mateel  looked  as 
though  it  were  possible  to  be  let  alone  too  much,  although 
^he  said  nothing. 

"  I  take  it  that  people  do  not  come  west  for  society,  but 
rather  because  there  are  more  acres  than  people  in  this 
direction,"  Barker  said.  "  I  have  been  told  that  it  is  po* 
gible  to  get  too  much  of  society,  and  that  after  it  quiet  is 
appreciated.  To  this  class  Fairview  will  prove  a  satis 
factory  place.  My  nearest  neighbor  lives  two  miles  away ; 
I  shouldn't  care  if  he  lived  ten.  He  is  an  ignorant  fellow, 
who  chops  wood  for  a  living ;  and  he  is  very  considerate, 
for  he  never  comes  to  see  me.  I  think  I  never  spoke  to 
my  neighbor  except  to  ask  nim  how  much  was  my  debt. 
We  get  along  very  well.  Who  is  the  young  man  at  the 
window?"  noticing  Bragg,  who  had  changed  his  position 
and  was  looking  at  the  sky. 

I  replied  that  he  was  a  friend  of  Mr.  Shepherd's,  and 
that  he  had  only  arrived  a  few  days  before. 

"Tie  looks  as  though  he  was  in  jail  for  murder,  and 
meditating  an  escape  in  order  to  commit  the  same 
offence  with  greater  atrocity.  What  is  the  matter  wiv 
him?" 


120  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

I  was  afraid  that  this  might  offend  Mateel,  but  aftei 
seeing  that  Bragg  had  not  heard  it  she  laughed  over  it,  ai 
did  the  rest  of  us.  She  added,  however,  that  he  was  in 
excellent  health,  and  that  he  was  more  moody  than 
sullen,  and  could  be  very  agreeable  when  he  wanted 
to  be. 

"I  judge  he  has  had  too  much  of  society,  and  enjoji 
the  quiet  of  Fairview.  He  looks  pleasant." 

I  will  swear  that  Bragg' s  face  was  the  most  unpleasant 
and  disagreeable  at  that  moment  I  had  ever  seen. 

"  He  should  visit  the  mill  for  quiet.  We  have  no  noise 
nhere  except  the  roar  of  the  water  and  the  rumble  of  the 
wheels,  and  we  have  grown  so  accustomed  to  these  that 
it  would  not  be  quiet  without  them.  I  hope  he  will  like 
the  country." 

At  this  moment  my  father  and  Mr.  Shepherd  came 
around  from  the  orchard,  and  Barker  bowed  low  on  being 
presented.  I  thought  Mr.  Shepherd  regretted  he  had  not 
known  Barker  was  so  polite,  as  he  could  have  shown  some 
thing  in  that  line  himself;  but  they  got  on  very  well 
together,  and  were  soon  talking  like  old  friends.  We  sat 
there  for  an  hour  or  more,  listening  to  their  easy  and  cul 
tured  conversation,  and  it  occurred  to  me,  with  renewed 
force,  that  Fairview  was  getting  out  of  its  old  ways.  Mr. 
Shepherd  promised  to  visit  him,  the  invitation  having 
been  extended,  and  my  mother  and  the  minister's  wife 
coming  out  later  the  party  was  so  agreeable  that  I  won- 
iered  we  could  not  have  more  of  it  instead  of  the  discon 
tent  which  usually  oppressed  us.  Hearing  our  peals  of 
laughter  I  hoped  Bragg  regretted  he  had  not  been  in 
better  humor  and  joined  the  company ;  but  he  nevei 
looked  that  way,  and  pretended  to  be  occupied  with 
himself. 

u  You  have  never  been  inside  of  Fairview  church,  Da 


CBITICISING  A  YOiryG  IJ05Y.  121 


mon,"  my  father  said  to  him,  quite  familiarly,  .ate  in  th« 
afternoon  ;  "  won't  you  come  to-night  ?  " 

"I  will  walk  on  with  Ned,"  Barker  replied,  good- 
naturedly,  and  rising,  "  and  think  of  it  after  I  reach  the 
cross  roads  ;  I  see  it  is  almost  time  to  start." 

After  taking  his  leave  of  all  *,  ?  them  in  a  courteous 
way,  I  walked  with  him  along  the  path  leading  across  the 
field,  my  father  excusing  me  from  further  attendance  for 
that  purpose. 

We  proceeded  quite  leisurely,  as  there  was  no  hurry, 
and  after  we  had  walked  a  considerable  distance  my  com 
panion  said  :  — 

"  A  very  pretty  girl,  and  intelligent  enough,  but  weak. 
She  could  be  coaxed  into  anything.  They  say  that  is 
true  of  all  light-haired  women." 

I  did  not  know  whether  he  meant  Agnes  or  Mateel,  so 
I  inquired,  "Who?" 

"  The  one  you  call  Mateel.  She  has  a  pretty  face,  but 
were  I  inclined  to  criticise  such  a  delightful  girl  I  should 
say  she  lacks  decision.  The  other  one  hardly  spoke  to  me. 
What  is  it  they  call  her?" 

"  Agnes." 

"  The  school-teacher,  I  believe.  She  is  very  much  of  a 
woman,  though  evidently  young.  I  admire  her  more 
than  the  other  one.  Do  her  people  live  here  ?  " 

"No;  in  Smoky  Hill." 

"  Very  respectable,  I  have  no  doubt.  I  should  like  to 
know  her  father,  and  congratulate  him." 

"  Her  father  is  dead,"  I  answered. 

-<Oh!     Dead." 

He  walked  on  hi  silence  for  *  considerable  distance 

u  An  orphan.     It  's  a  pity." 

I  narrated  what  7ittle  I  could  tell  of  the  family  after  thi 
oromise  to  Agnes,  though  I  longed  to  tell  him  of  h$i 


122  THE  8TOBY  OF  A  COUNTBY  TOWN. 

mother ;  but  it  seemed  to  bore  him,  and  he  dismissed  tht 
iubject  after  I  had  concluded  in  a  rhapsody  for  the  gentle 
and  patient  Agnes. 

By  this  time  we  had  reached  the  cross-road,  leading  in 
one  direction  to  the  church  and  in  the  other  toward  hii 
home.  He  stopped  here,  and  said :  — 

"  I  will  not  go  to  the  church  to-night,  if  you  will  be 
good  enough  to  present  my  excuse  to  your  father.  It  is 
a  long  road  home,  and  I  must  walk  it.  You  know  that 
you  are  always  welcome  at  the  mill,  and  that  Jo  is  anxious 
to  see  you.  Good-night." 

He  turned  abruptly  on  his  heel,  anft,  walking  away,  hie 
form  was  soon  lost  in  the  rapidly  approaching  darkness. 

When  I  arrived  at  the  church  I  found  the  others  all 
there,  and  was  surprised  to  find  Bragg  in  better  humor,  aa 
if  the  darkness  suited  his  disposition  better.  He  w*& 
walking  about  quite  contentedly,  looking  curiously  (and 
impudently)  at  the  knots  of  people  collected  in  the  yard, 
and  listening  to  what  they  were  saying.  At  times  I 
thought  he  would  speak  to  them,  and  his  eyes,  dull  and 
heavy  all  day,  were  now  as  bright  and  active  as  a  ferret's, 
and  I  thought  he  could  penetrate  the  darkness  with  them, 
for  while  the  services  were  in  progress  he  kept  walking 
about,  closely  regarding  everything,  as  though  it  were 
broad  daylight.  When  the  people  came  out,  he  met  the 
Shepherds  at  the  door,  and  went  down  the  walk  with 
Mateel  on  his  arm,  and  when  they  drove  away  I  thought 
I  heard  him  talking  quite  good-naturedly.  Had  the  fel 
low's  spirits  deserted  him  at  the  approach  of  day,  a&4 
come  back  *ith  the  darkness? 


CHAPTER  XH. 

LOVE'S  YOUNG  DREAM. 

0  months  had  passed  since  Jo  had  gone  to  lire  at 
-I-  the  mill,  and  on  a  Saturday  afternoon  it  was  arranged 
*hat  I  should  visit  him,  and  remain  until  Monday. 

My  father  was  at  the  country  town  a  great  deal  of  late, 
and  the  farm  was  being  neglected  in  the  hands  of  the 
renter  and  his  two  sons,  who  I  often  thought  were  shift 
less  men,  or  they  would  have  owned  a  farm  of  their  own, 
for  land  was  cheap  and  plentiful.  When  he  returned 
from  these  visits  to  Twin  Mounds,  he  was  more  thought 
ful  than  ever,  and  after  making  long  rows  of  figures  in  his 
private  book,  and  casting  them  up,  he  pondered  over  the 
result,  as  if  he  had  added  another  problem  to  the  number 
he  was  always  studying  over. 

I  did  not  get  started  until  late,  and  as  I  rode  away  my 
father  came  out  to  say  that,  unless  I  hurried,  night  would 
overtake  me  in  the  woods,  and  as  it  was  the  first  time  ir 
his  life  he  had  paid  me  so  much  attention,  I  thought,  as  1 
rode  along,  that  Fairview  was  certainly  progressing,  and 
that  the  old  order  of  things  was  passing  away. 

The  road  which  I  travelled  led  through  the  fields  past 
Theodore  Meek's,  and  thence  through  the  woods,  and,  as 
I  went  along  leisurely,  when  I  was  half  way  it  began  to 
grow  dark.  This  did  not  alarm  -aie,  however,  as  I  was 
*rell  acquainted  with  the  way,  and  there  was  no  prospect 
of  getting  lost.  As  I  came  out  upon  the  ridge  dividing 
Ihe  waters  of  Bull  River  and  Big  Creek,  where  there  wai 

123 


124  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWK. 

*n  opening,  and  tne  trees  gave  way  to  underbrush,  I  san 
a  man  ahead  of  me  riding  on  horseback,  as  I  was.  Think 
ing  he  was  going  my  way,  and  would  keep  me  company, 
I  hurried  on  to  come  up  with  him,  but  he  turned  out  of 
tha  road  when  I  approached  him,  and  rode  off  to  the  left, 
Although  it  was  almost  dark,  I  recognized  the  horseman 
as  Clinton  Bragg,  and  the  direction  he  took  indicated  that 
he  was  on  his  way  to  visit  the  Shepherds.  Coming  up  to 
the  place  where  he  had  turned  off,  I  saw  that  there  was 
no  road,  and  had  a  mind  to  halloo  to  him,  thinking  he  was 
not  familiar  with  the  country,  and  might  have  lost  his  way, 
but  before  I  could  put  that  intention  into  execution,  he 
urged  his  horse  into  a  gallop,  and  passed  rapidly  along  the 
deep  shadow  skirting  the  other  side  of  the  clearing.  I 
remembered  then  that  the  fellow,  like  an  owl,  was  more 
himself  after  dark  than  during  the  day,  and,  supposing 
that  he  had  concluded  to  ride  through  the  timber  and 
darkness  to  save  distance,  I  thought  no  more  of  him,  ex- 
cept  to  wish  that  he  would  have  trouble. 

When  I  arrived  at  the  mill  it  was  long  after  dark,  and, 
wishing  to  surprise  Jo,  I  put  the  horse  away  alone,  as  I 
was  familiar  with  the  stables  from  frequent  visits.  Seeing 
no  light  in  the  house,  I  supposed  he  was  at  the-  mill,  and 
went  in  there,  although  it  was  dark,  and  I  should  have 
thought  it  deserted  but  for  the  circumstance  that  all  the 
machinery  was  in  operation.  Hearing  some  one  in  th« 
basement,  I  sat  down  until  he  had  finished  and  started 
up  the  stairs,  when  I  saw  it  was  Jo,  carrying  a  lantern. 

"  And  so  you  have  come  at  last,"  he  said,  hanging  the 
lantern  on  his  arm,  and  taking  both  my  hands  in  his.  "  I 
had  almost  come  to  believe  that  you  had  forgotten  me.7 

"  It  has  been  impossible  for  me  to  come  sooner,"  « 
replied.  "  We  have  been  very  busy  at  home  since  you 
came  away,  and  as  father  spends  a  great  deal  of  his  timf 


THE  YOTOG  MTLT,TCR.  126 

In  town  now,  I  have  double  work  to  do.  1  have  been  ai 
MJJUOUS  to  come  as  you  have  been  anxious  to  see  me,  for  I 
have  been  very  lonely  since  you  went  away." 

"I  am  certain  of  that,"  he  returned  good-naturedly, 
using  his  lantern  to  look  critically  at  a  wheel  which  I  am 
sure  was  all  right,  but  he  wanted  me  to  know  that  he  waa 
in  charge ;  "  I  am  certain  you  came  as  soon  as  you  coald, 
my  dear  old  friend.  You,  like  myself,  cannot  always  do 
what  you  please.  But  now  that  you  have  come,  you  may 
be  quite  sure  that  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  and  you  could  not 
have  arrived  at  a  more  favorable  time.  I  am  to  stay  here 
until  midnight,  at  which  time  Barker  will  relieve  me,  and 
you  shall  stay  with  me  and  tell  me  the  news." 

"  I  think  it  is  very  much  to  your  credit,  Jo,"  I  said, 
"  that  you  are  able  to  run  alone  already." 

"  O,  it  is  nothing,"  he  answered,  though  I  could  see  he 
was  proud  of  it.  "  All  I  have  to  do  is  to  look  around,  and 
see  that  the  belts  are  on  and  that  the  machinery  is  run 
ning  smoothly.  The  mill  runs  itself,  and  if  anything 
should  go  wrong,  I  have  only  to  shut  down  the  gate,  and 
call  Barker.  But  nothing  is  likely  to  go  wrong.  Barker 
is  a  fine  miller,  and  he  has  everything  so  arranged  that 
the  water  does  the  work  with  little  assistance.  But  tell 
me  Low  much  you  have  missed  me  again,  and  everything 
that  has  occurred  at  home  since  I  came  away." 

Under  the  first  head  I  could  have  talked  all  night,  but 
there  was  nothing  new  except  the  arrival  of  Bragg. 

"He  was  here  to-day,"  Jo  said,  thoughtfully,  "and  I 
don't  like  his  looks.  He  came  in  while  I  was  alone,  and 
inquired  if  this  was  Barker's  mill.  I  answered  that  it  was, 
wnen  he  said  he  presumed  my  name  was  Jo  Erring.  On 
my  confessing  my  name,  he  sat  down  on  a  pile  of  sacks, 
and  watched  me  intently  for  half  an  hour,  when  he  got 
ap,  and  went  out  without  saying  a  word.  I  suppose  h« 


126  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN, 

irent  up  to  the  house,  and  looked  at  Barker  in  the  aaim 
way,  for  I  saw  him  come  out  of  the  door,  mount  his  horse, 
and  ride  away.  He  looks  like  one  of  the  Devil's  sons. 
Who  is  he?" 

I  told  all  I  knew  about  him,  and  I  thought  Jo  wai 
much  interested  in  the  statement  that  he  had  been  raised 
at  MateePs  old  home,  and  that  they  had  grown  *ip 
together. 

"  He 's  impudent,  whoever  he  is ;  I  can  say  that  for  him. 
I  thought  he  wanted  to  buy  me,  he  looked  at  me  so 
closely.  I  suppose  Mateel  is  as  pretty  as  ever." 

I  answered  that  she  wonderfully  improved  on  acquain- 
tance,  and  that,  having  gone  down  into  the  bottom  of  hei 
trunk,  she  was  better  dressed  than  ever  when  last  I 
saw  her. 

"You  know  that  letter  of  apology  to  Mateel  I  read 
you  ? "  Jo  inquired,  without  paying  much  attention  to  my 
remark. 

I  said  I  remembered  it  very  distinctly,  but  I  wondered 
why  he  now  regarded  it  so  pleasantly,  for  he  was  smiling. 

"  Well,  I  received  an  answer  to  it  a  day  or  two  after 
coming  here,  accompanied  by  an  invitation  to  visit  her, 
and  I  don't  mind  confessing  to  you  that  I  went,  as  I  had 
learned  a  great  deal  since  I  called  there  the  first  time 
with  your  mother,  and  was  anxious  she  should  know  it. 
In  fact,  I  have  been  there  three  times  in  three  weeks.  Its 
only  a  short  distance  to  their  house  from  here,  and  Barker 
gave  me  so  many  lessons  in  bowing  and  politeness  that  I 
oould  n't  resist  the  temptation  to  try  them." 

"And  how  did  they  work?" 

MOh,  I  forgot  everything  as  soon  as  I  got  into  the 
house,  of  course,"  he  answered  wearily,  as  though  he 
Were  dreadfully  slow  in  learning  to  be  polite.  "She 
came  up  to  me,  and  stood  so  close  that  I  had  n't  room  *i 


CONTENTMENT.  127 

bow.  When  her  mother  came  in,  she  shook  hands,  and  I 
couldn't  have  bowed  to  her  without  pushing  over  my 
chair.  It  was  a  total  failure,  though  I  am  improving.  I 
take  off  my  hat  now  before  going  in  at  the  gate.  I  am 
under  contract  to  go  there  to-morrow  night,  and  you  shall 
accompany  me.  I  have  a  new  suit  of  clothes,  too.  They 
arrived  a  few  days  after  I  came  here;  I  asked  Barker 
who  sent  them,  and  he  said  he  supposed  it  must  have 
been  God. 

"  Jo,"  I  said,  "  you  are  very  happy  here,  I  can  see  it 
already." 

"  I  confess  that  I  am,"  he  replied  ;  "  more  contented  than 
I  ever  expected  to  be  anywhere.  I  am  useful  to  Barkej 
^BO  he  is  kind  enough  to  say,  at  least),  and  he  told  mi 
to-day  that  he  intends  to  pay  me  wages  from  the  time  I 
came,  instead  of  compelling  me  to  work  a  long  while  for 
nothing.  Yes,  I  am  very  happy  here ;  you  have  guessed 
my  secret." 

I  was  heartily  glad  of  it,  and  said  so,  and  added  that 
no  one  deserved  it  more. 

"  But  after  all  there  is  nothing  like  a  fairy  story  in  it ; 
nothing  unreal,  and  nothing  that  is  likely  to  melt  away, 
and  leave  me  a  drudge  at  Fairview  again.  I  am  simply 
in  a  place  where,  if  I  work  hard,  I  shall  get  something  for 
it.  Every  one  ought  to  have  that  opportunity,  therefore 
it  is  not  too  much  to  hope  that  my  good  fortune  may  con> 
tinue.  I  should  have  been  as  comfortably  situated  as  I  am 
now  a  good  many  years  ago  (no  one  is  so  unworthy  that 
he  does  not  deserve  pay  for  what  work  he  does  well),  but 
I  have  learned  nothing,  and  earned  nothing,  until  now, 
though  I  am  almost  a  man  grown." 

Jo  had  been  a  full  hand  on  the  farm  for  several  years 
but  he  never  received  anything  for  it.  except  complaint* 
%nd  I  understood  what  he  meant. 


128  THE  8TOKY  OF  A  COUNTKY   TOWH. 

a  But  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  Mateel ;  I  think  a 
great  deal  about  her.  It 's  very  odd,  but  it  is  very  true. 
At  home,  and  at  your  house,  the  poorest  corner  was  too 
good  for  Jo ;  with  her  the  best  is  too  poor.  I  should  be 
very  ungrateful  did  she  not  occupy  my  thoughts  a  groat 
deal.  Though  she  is  a  lady  and  I  only  a  rough  country 
boy,  she  is  so  considerate  of  me  that  I  cannot  help  loving 
her,  though  it  is  very  presuming  in  me,  I  fear.  I  feel  as 
though  I  were  visiting  a  queen  when  I  go  there,  but  she 
makes  me  so  welcome  that  I  soon  forget  myself,  and 
imagine  1  am  a  king.  All  of  my  ambition  is  connected 
with  her  now.  If  I  hope  to  become  a  worthy  man,  and 
well-to-do,  it  is  that  she  may  be  proud  of  me,  and  feel 
that  I  have  worked  to  please  her;  if  I  study  Barker's 
books  diligently  by  the  light  of  this  lantern  at  night,  it  ia 
that  I  may  become  more  intelligent,  and  worthy  of  the 
good  opinion  she  has  of  me.  I  dream  of  nothing  pleasant 
in  which  she  does  not  have  a  part.  If  I  fancy  I  am  happy, 
she  is  beside  me,  and  the  cause  of  it ;  if  I  have  grown  rich 
and  great  in  a  night,  I  am  only  glad  of  it  because  it  will 
please  Mateel.  Always  and  everywhere,  when  my  better 
part  is  uppermost,  she  is  in  my  thoughts,  but  never  when 
I  am  contemptible  in  any  way.  There  seems  to  be  no 
doubt,  in  short,  that  I  am  desperately  in  love." 

I  had  suspected  this  for  some  time,  though  I  pretended 
to  be  greatly  surprised. 

"I  have  never  said  anything  to  her  about  it,"  he  con 
tinued.  "  Maybe  I  never  shall,  but,  ignorant  as  I  am,  I 
«an  see  she  is  glad  to  see  me  when  I  go  there,  and  she 
would  not  invite  me  back  so  cordially  if  she  could  not 
tolerate  me.  It  is  very  pleasant  for  an  ignorant  fellow 
tike  me  to  be  friends  with  a  refined  lady  like  Mateel.  1 
never  thought  there  was  anything  in  life  equal  to  it.  Sh€ 
does  not  seem  to  know  but  that  I  am  of  a  good  family 


JO'S    SECRET.  129 

but  I  intend  to  tell  her  honestly  and  truly  some  iim« 
what  an  unfavored  fellow  I  am." 

I  said  she  probably  knew  all  about  him  already,  and 
was  satisfied. 

"  Do  you  suppose  she  does?  "  he  inquired  with  the  look 
of  a  pleasant  hope  in  his  face.  "  It  would  be  comforting 
to  know  that,  as  it  would  be  humiliating  to  tell  her  every- 
thing  to  my  discredit  I  can  think  of.  But  if  ever  I 
become  convinced  that  she  loves  me,  I  will  tell  her  every 
Miing  if  it  kills  me." 

He  talked  as  though  he  had  been  a  great  criminal  in 
his  time,  but  there  was  really  nothing  more  serious 
against  him  than  that  his  father  was  an  eccentric  shingle- 
maker,  and  his  mother  a  midwife,  if  I  except  the  circum 
stance  that  everybody  said  he  came  of  a  shiftless  family 

"  There  seems  to  be  no  doubt  that  I  am  madly  in  Jove," 
he  repeated  again,  looking  at  the  flame  of  his  lantern,  as 
though  it  were  likely  to  give  an  opinion  as  to  whether  be 
was  or  not.  "  I  don't  know  whether  to  regard  it  as  a 
serious  circumstance  or  a  pleasant  one.  They  say  that 
one's  first  love  does  not  amount  to  anything,  and  that  one 
soon  forgets  it.  It  will  not  be  that  way  with  me,  I  am 
certain.  I  should  be  ashamed  to  offer  my  affections  to 
another  girl  after  having  loved  Mateel  as  madly  as  I  do 
now,  and  I  should  feel  that  I  was  offering  a  poor  return 
for  the  love  I  should  expect  of  a  wife.  I  am  convinced 
that  a  man  who  has  loved  but  once  makes  a  better  husband 
than  one  who  is  in  doubt  as  to  whether  he  ever  loved  at 
all.  I  would  as  soon  marry  a  widow  with  children  as  a 
woman  who  has  been  engaged,  and  permitted  the  famili 
arities  which  are  common  under  such  circumstances.  li 
there  is  anything  in  love  at  all,  it  is  wrong  to  break  an 
engagement.  A  man  or  woman  who  is  so  uncertain  ID 
matters  of  the  heart  as  to  contract  a  new  fancvy  four  01 


130  $HK  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

five  times  a  year,  is  likely  to  be  mistaken  at  last.  1  am 
not  acquainted  with  many  people  who  are  happily  mar« 
ried,  but  I  am  convinced  that  plenty  of  them  may  b« 
found  in  looking  the  world  over,  and  inquiry  will  no 
doubt  reveal  the  fact  that  they  were  never  in  love  but 
once.  If  I  should  marry,  it  would  seriously  affect  my 
happiness  to  know  that  another  man — I  despise  a  man, 
anyhow  —  had  caressed  and  fondled  my  wife  as  an  ac 
cepted  lover.  I  would  n't  live  in  the  same  country  with 
him,  and  I  should  be  forever  unhappy  for  fear  that  she 
Joved  him  the  best.  It  would  be  a  circumstance  very 
much  in  favor  of  a  happy  married  life  for  a  man  to  know 
that  his  wife  had  never  seen  anyone  else  she  would  marry ; 
to  know  that  her  lips  had  touched  only  his,  and  that  she 
was  innocent  as  well  as  virtuous." 

I  did  not  know  much  about  such  matters,  but  I  thought 
Jo  expected  a  great  deal ;  perhaps  too  much.  But  he  had 
grown  so  serious  that  i  knew  he  was  deeply  concerned, 
and  though  I  tried  to  change  the  subject,  and  talk  about 
the  mill,  he  answered  me  in  such  a  way  as  to  indicate 
that  he  would  talk  of  nothing  but  Mateel  that  night.  He 
was  uneasy  and  worried  in  his  manner,  too,  although  I 
could  not  understand  why,  unless  it  was  regret  that  he 
aad  been  raised  so  poorly,  and  that  he  was  only  given 
opportunity  to  learn  at  seventeen ;  for  I  knew  that  in  his 
affair  with  Mateel  he  had  every  reason  to  feel  satisfied. 
except  that  he  was  so  young  and  poor  as  to  render 
thoughts  of  his  marrying  her  almost  ridiculous.  It  may 
have  been  that  a  knowledge  of  the  possibilities  of  his 
future  made  him  chafe  and  fret  that  he  was  compelled, 
from  no  fault  of  his  own,  to  begin  life  so  late,  and  that 
he  feared  failure  under  such  circumstances,  although  sue- 
ce«P  would  have  been  c*"**aui  under  circumstances  more 
favorable 


THINKING.  181 

As  if  the  thought  were  disagreeable,  he  picied  up  thi 
antern  abruptly,  and  went  down  under  the  mill,  leaving 
me  in  the  dark,  and  he  remained  so  long  that  at  last  I 
followed.  I  found  him  leaning  against  a  heavy  timber, 
looking  at  the  flame  in  his  lantern  again,  as  though  it 
could  enlighten  him  if  it  would  on  certain  matters  of 
which  he  was  anxious  to  know  more. 

"  You  are  becoming  as  great  a  thinker  as  father,  Jo,"  1 
said,  touching  him  on  the  shoulder,  for  he  had  been  so 
occupied  with  his  thoughts  that  he  had  not  noticed  my 
approach.  "You  used  to  dislike  him  very  much  for 
that." 

Recollecting  himself,  he  pretended  that  he  had  come 
down  to  look  at  something,  and  after  seeing  that  it  was 
all  right,  we  went  up  again. 

"  If  I  was  thinking,"  he  said  good-naturedly,  "  it  was 
that  I  had  never  thought  of  loving  until  Mateel  came  in 
my  way.  The  possibility  that  some  day  I  should  marry 
was  so  remote  that  I  never  considered  it,  and  when  you 
came  down  there  just  now,  I  was  hoping  that  if  ever  I 
should  marry  Mateel  —  I  don't  suppose  I  ever  shall ;  it 
was  only  a  fancy,  and  there  is  no  harm  in  telling  it  —  she 
would  confess  to  me  that  thoughts  of  loving  and  marry- 
ing  never  came  to  her  until  she  met  me,  as  I  intend  to 
confess  to  her,  and  it  will  be  God's  holy  truth.  I  have 
never  even  divided  my  poor  affection  among  my  relatives ; 
Y ou  have  had  it  all,  but  I  don't  think  Mateel  would  object 
to  that," 

Although  he  had  only  been  there  a  short  time,  I 
thought  Jo  had  grown  to  be  a  man  since  I  had  seen  him 
tast.  He  looked  larger,  and  older,  and  acted  and  talked 
more  like  one  than  he  did  two  months  before,  when  ha 
was  a  boy. 

"  I  can  understand  why  you  love  me,"  he  said,  "  becauM 


182  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

I  have  tried  to  win  your  regard,  and  we  have  been  frieudi 
all  our  lives,  but  if  Mateel  cares  for  me,  it  is  because  there 
is  more  to  me  than  Fairview  has  ever  given  me  credit 
for.  If  that  is  not  the  case,  then  my  ambition  is  hopeless, 
and  if  I  have  been  thinking,  it  is  about  that.  It  is  plea 
sant  for  me  to  know  that,  ignorant  and  rough  as  I  am, 
intelligent  people  can  admire  me  at  all,  for  I  am  improv« 
ing  very  rapidly,  and  in  time  I  can  hope  to  become 
worthy  of  the  friendship  of  very  good  people.  I  am  sur 
prised  to  think  how  ignorant  I  was  a  month  ago ;  I  shall 
be  in  still  greater  wonder  six  months  hence  to  realize  how 
foolish  I  was  when  you  first  came  to  see  me  at  the  mill.  I 
have  nc  other  hope  for  the  future  than  that  I  can  learn 
something  every  day,  for  if  I  live  a  long  tune  I  can  hope 
to  know  something  at  last.  It  is  not  a  great  brain  that 
can  be  exhausted  at  thirty,  or  even  forty,  and  I  expect  to 
study  very  hard  from  now  on,  that  I  may  catch  up  with 
others  of  equal  capacity  who  began  under  more  fortunate 
circumstances.  I  believe  the  day  is  coming  when  Fair- 
view  will  be  peopled  with  the  kind  of  men  and  women  I 
am  acquainted  with  in  my  fancy ;  and  when  they  arrive  I 
am  ambitious  to  be  able  to  associate  with  them  without 
the  restraint  of  stupidity  and  ignorance." 

I  was  about  to  reply,  when  we  heard  Barker  coming  in, 
is  the  hour  had  arrived  when  he  was  to  take  charge, 
although  we  had  not  suspected  that  midnight  was  so  near 
at  hand,  so  rapidly  had  the  time  passed.  Barker  greeted 
me  pleasantly,  and  although  I  supposed  he  had  just  crept 
•>ut  of  bed,  he  was  as  fresh  and  cheerful  as  it  was  possible 
X)  be.  While  we  were  walking  up  to  the  house  I  men 
tioned  the  circumstance  to  Jo. 

"I  have  never  yet  found  him  asleep,"  he  replied,  ul 
think  one  of  his  eyes  is  always  open,  if  not  both  of  them, 
fcut  I  have  given  up  all  curiosity  with  reference  to  him 


TTAR  BARKER  A  SECRET?  13S 

[f  he  has  a  secret,  and  wants  me  to  know  it,  I  am  always 
bere,  and  he  can  easily  tell  me.  But  I  am  content  to 
trust  him  just  as  he  is.  There  can't  be  anything  very  bad 
about  a  man  who  is  always  fair,  just,  and  honest.  I  have 
an  idea  that  when  I  have  earned  his  confidence,  I  shall 
know  his  secret,  if  he  has  one,  and  that  he  will  tell  me. 
In  the  meantime  I  intend  to  make  myself  as  useful  as 
possible,  and  not  annoy  him  with  my  curiosity." 

I  had  intended  to  ask  Jo  for  a  theoiy  with  reference  to 
Barker  during  the  visit,  but  after  this  I  concluded  that  I 
would  not. 


CHAPTER 

THE  FLOCK  OF  THE  GOuOE  SHEPHERD. 

JO  and  I  agreed  that  we  would  ride  over  to  his  father*! 
in  the  forenoon  of  the  next  day,  and  return  by  way 
of  the  Shepherds'  in  the  evening.  We  started  in  the 
morning  before  Barker  was  stirring,  as  he  had  worked 
until  daylight,  Jo  riding  the  horse  he  had  received  from 
my  father  together  with  ten  dollars  in  money,  and  I  a 
clumsy  but  reliable  animal  from  the  farm,  which  I  believe 
had  assisted  in  hauling  our  wagons  to  the  country,  and 
-which  rode  about  as  comfortable  as  a  wheel-barrow. 

When  we  arrived  at  the  Ford,  and  as  we  stopped  our 
horses  to  allow  them  to  drink,  I  saw  that  several  loads  of 
stone  for  the  dam  had  arrived  since  my  last  visit  there, 
and  Jo  told  me  he  intended  to  haul  at  least  one  load  a 
week  until  he  had  enough,  and  that  there  would  occa 
sionally  be  dull  days  at  Barker's  —  as  in  times  of  high 
water,  or  ice  —  when  he  could  work  on  his  own  enter- 
prise  for  days  at  a  time. 

The  house  of  hewn  logs  occupied  by  my  grandfathei 
Was  built  on  the  crest  of  the  hill  above  the  creek,  the 
ground  on  the  side  by  which  we  approached  it  being 
lower,  and  covered  with  timber,  and  riding  up  to  the 
fence  surrounding  it,  we  secured  our  horses,  and  went  in. 
Although  it  was  summer,  Dad  Erring  occupied  his  usual 
corner  by  the  fire-place,  and  had  evidently  just  finished 
smoking  a  pipe,  as  the  room  was  yet  full  of  the  fumes. 
He  wag  very  much  surprised  to  see  us,  and  was  at  one* 
134 


DAD  EKitINO-  13$ 


cordial  and  hospitable  by  asking  us  to  pull  up  to  the  fire- 
place,  which  we  did,  although  the  fire  had  been  out  foi 
several  months. 

"She's  not  at  home,"  he  said,  divining  that  we  wan 
dered  where  Gran  was.  "  She  's  away.  But  I  don't  know 
where.  I  never  do.  Both  of  you  know  that  already. 
She  has  been  away  —  "  ha  rested  one  hand  on  his  knees, 
and  counted  the  days  on  the  bricks  of  the  hearth  with  his 
walking-stick  —  "  three  days.  She  may  be  at  home  in  an 
hour;  she  may  not  return  in  a  week.  Both  of  you 
are  familiar  with  the  manner  in  which  she  comes  and 
goes." 

I  had  frequently  remarked  of  my  grandfather  that 
while  others  in  Fairview  said  little  because  they  were 
gloomy,  he  said  little  because  he  had  little  to  say,  and 
after  finishing  what  I  have  quoted,  he  stopped  as  if  won 
dering  how  he  could  find  language  to  give  his  visitors  to 
understand  that  they  were  welcome.  He  seemed  to  con 
clude  at  last  that  we  were  anxious  to  know  next  about 
his  business  (as  if  there  was  nothing  in  the  wide  world 
except  his  wife  and  the  shingle  business),  and  said  :  — 

"  You  ask  how  I  am  getting  along  with  my  shingle- 
making."  We  had  not  mentioned  the  subject  at  all,  by 
the  way.  "  I  answer,  not  very  well.  The  trees  cut  very 
hard  of  late,  and  although  I  go  to  my  work  later,  and 
come  home  earlier  than  formerly,  I  am  more  tired  at 
night  than  usual.  Shingle-making  does  not  progress  very 
well  y  I  am  afraid  I  am  not  as  young  as  I  was  ten  or 
twelve  years  ago,  but  we  must  all  wear  out,  You  two 
are  commencing  ;  I  am  finishing,  but  I  doubt  if  you  think 
of  the  future  more  pleasantly  than  I  do.  I  am  always 
tired  now,  and  rest  to  me  is  as  agreeable  as  hope  to  you, 
Look  at  my  hands." 

Ai  he  held  them  out,  I  saw  that  they  were  cracked  and 


136  THE  STORY  OF    £  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

scarred,  and  the  flesh  on  them  4ry  and  callous,  lie  had 
been  rubbing  them  with  some  kind  of  oil,  and  the  fingers 
were  so  cold  that  it  remained  on  them  in  lumps  withoat 
melting. 

"  They  hurt  me  a  great  deal."  We  both  expressed  a 
regret  that  his  hinds  were  not  better.  "But  I  am  well 
every  other  way,  except  that  I  get  tired  so  easy.  If  I 
could  get  the  cracks  out  of  my  hands,  the  shingle  business 
would  get  on  better." 

I  had  noticed  before  that  he  apologized  for  old  age  and 
weakness  in  this  way,  and  tried  to  convince  himself  that 
he  was  very  well,  and  very  strong,  except  that  his  hands 
would  crack  open,  and  occasionally  he  raised  them  up,  and 
looked  at  the  sores,  as  though  they  would  finally  be  the 
death  of  him. 

"  She  has  good  success  with  other  people,  but  poor  luck 
with  my  hands."  He  always  spoke  of  his  wife  as  "  she," 
as  she  always  referred  to  him  as  "he."  "  They  baffle  her 
skill.  I  suppose  they  are  in  a  bad  way." 

He  got  up  at  this,  and  began  walking  up  and  down  the 
floor,  rubbing  his  hands  together.  Remembering  his 
great  feats  at  walking,  I  thought  if  his  hands  were  a* 
sound  as  his  legs,  he  would  still  be  a  stout  man.  Coming 
back  to  his  chair  presently,  he  sat  down,  and  said  to  Jo :  — 

"  Since  we  are  talking  of  your  new  business,  I  may  as 
well  say  that  she  has  agreed  that  you  are  to  have  this 
place/'  I  could  not  help  wondering  what  boy  had  sat 
between  them,  and  made  a  conversation  on  the  subject 
possible.  "  I  don't  know  whether  it  is  fit  for  what  you 
want  it  or  not,  r.ut  we  have  both  decided  that  you 
may  try." 

I  was  surprised  that  he  knew  Jo  had  such  an  ambition, 
•r  that  he  knew  Jo  had  gone  to  Barker's  to  live,  for  it 
was  a  chance  that  any  one  lad  taken  the  pains  to  tel 


FATHER  AND  SON.  137 

a  If  my  Lands  get  better  by  the  time  you  are  ready  to 
eommence,"  he  said,  "I  will  help  you.  I  wag  once  a 
good  hand  at  framing  timbers,  and  there  is  enough  on  the 
place  to  build  the  mill.  I  have  picked  out  a  great  many 
iticks  in  my  trips  to  the  woods  which  will  be  suitable." 

It  pleased  Jo  to  know  that  he  had  been  planning  to 
help  him,  for  no  one  else  had. 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  help  me,  father,"  he  said,  "  though 
I  am  glad  you  offer  to,  for  now  I  know  you  have  confi 
dence  in  me.  I  intend  to  help  you,  after  I  become  a 
miller,  instead  of  permitting  you  to  help  me.  I  am 
sorry  I  never  talked  to  you  about  it  before ;  you  know 
more  about  it  than  any  of  them." 

"  I  have  thought  about  your  mill  a  great  deal,"  was  his 
reply,  "  and  have  great  hope  that  you  will  turn  out  a  bet 
ter  man  than  your  father.  I  have  never  amounted  to 
much;  both  of  you  know  that,  but  you  have  a  better 
start.  It  is  poor  enough ;  you  can  imagine  what  mine 
was,  and  you  know  more  than  I  did  at  your  age.  I  have 
lived  all  my  life  in  places  where  men  were  not  expected 
to  amount  to  much,  and  were  satisfied  if  they  did  not.  It 
seems  to  be  different  now." 

What  a  dull  country  he  must  have  lived  in,  to  have 
thought  Fairview  superior  to  it ! 

"  I  think  you  ought  to  build  your  house  where  this  one 
stands,"  he  said.  "I  have  planted  a  number  of  trees 
around  it  for  you,  and  I  hope  that  when  you  are  grown 
up,  your  happy  children  may  play  under  their  shade.  It 
is  a  pretty  place  here,  and  it  is  but  a  few  rods  to  the  best 
point  for  a  mill.  I  have  more  confidence  in  you  than  any 
sme  else.  I  would  help  you  if  I  could." 

Jo  was  greatly  affected  by  this  kindness,  and  as  an 
excuse  to  get  out  of  doors,  fearing  he  would  be  weak 
tnough  to  ciy  if  he  remained  tnere,  suggested  that  we  gel 


138  THE  8TOEY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

dinner.  The  idea  wag  not  a  bad  one,  after  we  came  U 
think  more  of  it,  and  we  soon  had  it  under  way. 

My  grandfather  pretended  not  to  know  what  we  wert 
about,  but  I  saw  him  looking  frequently  into  the  kitchen, 
where  we  were,  and  when  it  was  declared  ready,  he  tried 
to  be  greatly  surprised.  There  was  a  number  of  young 
chickens  running  around,  and  we  had  taken  two  of  these, 
intending  to  leave  word  for  Gran  that  the  hawks  had  beeD 
about,  and  that  the  mice  had  been  in  the  pickles  and 
preserves.  The  dinner  was  Jo's  best  effort,  and,  being 
familiar  with  everything  his  father  was  fond  of,  he  euo 
ceeded  in  making  him  very  good  natured. 

"It  is  just  such  a  dinner  as  I  can  enjoy,"  he  said,  when 
he  sat  down  to  it.  "  You  seem  to  be  able  to  do  every 
thing,  Jo,  but  I  hope  you  will  get  out  of  the  way,  for 
these  Jacks  are  said  to  be  able  to  make  everything  except 
money.  I  depend  on  you  to  distinguish  your  family; 
there  is  no  one  else  to  do  it,  and  we  come  of  a  long  line 
of  very  common  folks.  I  enjoy  your  dinner,  but  I  am 
Borry  you  can  cook  so  well ;  really,  I  am  sorry.  I  could 
cook  when  I  was  of  your  age,  and  I  could  cut  hair,  and  I 
never  amounted  to  anything.  You  should  get  out  of  the 
way." 

His  good  nature  continued  until  after  the  meal  was  con- 
eluded,  and  until  we  went  away,  for  when  we  had  returned 
to  the  front  room  again,  he  asked  Jo  and  me  to  sing  camp- 
meeting  songs  to  him  while  he  smoked,  which  we  cheer- 
fully  did,  imitating  the  singers  in  gestures,  hand-shaking, 
§1; outing,  and  so  on,  which  was  an  accomplishment  we  had 
to  be  very  careful  in  exhibiting.  Then  we  made  prayers 
And  speeches  representing  The.  Meek,  Mr.  Winter,  and 
the  miller's  sister,  and  sang  the  hymn  through  our  noses, 
commencing,  "  Hark,  from  the  tomb,  a  doleful  sound," 
til  of  which  so  pleased  my  grandfather  that  he  laughed 


THE  SHEPHERD'S  FOLD.  189 

wia  roared,  and  pounded  the  floor  with  hie  stick,  and  de 
clared  that  we  were  equal  to  a  "  show."  When  we  said 
in  the  course  of  the  afternoon  that  we  must  go,  he  replied 
that  he  sincerely  regretted  it,  as  he  had  never  enjoyed 
himself  so  well  before,  and  made  us  promise  that  we 
would  come  back  every  Sunday  in  the  future  when  Gran 
was  away,  and  have  an  equally  good  time.  We  both 
shook  hands  with  him  at  parting  —  for  the  first  time  in 
our  lives,  I  think  —  and  rode  away  waving  adieus. 

The  Shepherds  lived  on  the  other  side  of  Big  Creek 
woods,  on  the  high  divide  between  Big  Creek  and  Bull 
River,  in  a  house  originally  dingy  enough,  but  which  had 
been  wonderfully  transformed  by  their  living  in  it.  The 
people  said  enough  money  had  been  spent  in  repairing  it 
to  build  a  house  large  enough  for  three,  and  it  was  fur 
nished  throughout  in  a  style  very  unusual  in  that  country, 
although  it  was  no  more  than  comfortable. 

Mateel  met  us  at  the  door,  and  as  she  ushered  us  into 
the  neat  parlor  I  thought  I  had  never  seen  a  handsomer 
woman,  with  the  possible  exception  of  Agnes,  and  I  could 
not  but  inwardly  congratulate  Jo  on  his  good  fortune.  I 
thought  that  I  could  see  that  she  was  very  fond  of  him, 
now  that  it  had  been  called  to  my  mind,  though  I  may 
only  have  imagined  it,  for  she  was  as  polite  to  me  as  to 
Vdm. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,"  she  said,  taking  my  hat,  which 
I  was  careful  to  remove,  remembering  Jo's  experience. 
u  My  father  did  not  feel  well  to-day,  and  we  are  all  at 
home,  as  Mr.  Westlock  agreed  to  take  his  place  at  Fair- 
view." 

Mr.  Shepherd  came  in  at  this  moment,  followed  by  hii 
respectable  wife  (who  bowed  stiffly  to  ooth  of  ws  at  once, 
fta  though  we  were  not  worth  two  separate  efforts),  and 


140  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

impressed  me  at  once  with  his  freedom  for  a  Sundaj 
evening.  It  was  a  funeral  day  at  our  house,  but  Mr, 
Shepherd  laughed  and  talked  as  though  we  were  at  a 
party.  As  I  looked  at  his  pale  and  effeminate  face,  I 
thought  that  his  daughter  was  very  much  like  him,  and 
that  had  a  son  been  born  to  the  family,  he  would  have 
been  like  his  mother  —  quiet,  dignified,  and  capable. 

"  I  worked  in  the  field  so  late  Saturday,"  he  said,  with 
the  utmost  candor  and  freedom,  "  that  I  felt  too  tired  to 
preach  to-day,  so  I  sent  word  to  your  father  that  he  would 
oblige  me  by  preaching  a  sermon  on  future  punishment, 
It  is  one  of  the  rules  of  the  church  that  this  disagreeable 
topic  be  discussed  from  the  pulpit  at  least  once  a  year.  I 
dislike  it,  and  am  glad  to  shirk.  Your  father  is  very  fond 
of  the  subject,  I  am  told.  But  no  difference  what  he  says 
about  it,  I  will  apologize  next  Sunday,  and  deny  it.  The 
religion  of  Fairview  seems  to  make  the  people  miserable ; 
1  shall  change  it  if  I  can.  I  have  been  religious  all  my 
life,  and  it  never  caused  me  a  sorrow.  I  don't  believe  in 
devils  much,  but  I  believe  a  great  deal  in  angels." 

As  he  looked  at  me  as  if  he  desired  an  expression  on  the 
subject,  I  said  angels  were  certainly  the  most  comforting 
to  think  about. 

"  I  have  been  much  distressed  by  the  unhappy  faces  I 
have  seen  since  coming  here,  and  I  hope  I  may  be  the 
humble  instrument  of  brightening  them.  The  right  kind 
of  religion  will  put  flowers  in  the  yard,  let  sunlight  in  at 
the  window,  and  fill  the  house  with  content  and  happi 
ness.  I  became  a  Christian  man  because  I  longed  for 
heaven,  rather  than  because  I  feared  the  dreadful  abode 
of  the  wicked,  and  it  is  my  intention  to  introduce  thi* 
gospel  here." 

Mr.  Shepherd  was  directing  his  conversation  to  me,  ai 
If  ateel  and  Joe  had  retired  to  another  part  of  the  roora 


THE  NEW  PASTOR'S  RELIGION.  141 

and  were  very  much  interested  in  each  other.  I  therefore 
wished  him  success  in  the  undertaking. 

"  I  have  always  thought  that  the  Bible  is  such  a  con 
vincing  book  that  it  finally  converts  nearly  all  the  children 
of  men,  —  I  hope  all  of  them,  —  though  the  church  to 
which  I  belong  does  not  cheerfully  accept  my  opinion. 
The  Bible  is  only  in  dispute  because  a  new  set  of  men  are 
coming  on  all  the  time,  who  have  also  to  be  convinced 
and  saved.  Its  promises  are  so  magnificent  that  no  one 
can  read  them  all  his  life  and  fail  to  put  himself  in  the 
way  of  their  fulfilment ;  therefore  there  is  no  excuse  for 
referring  to  the  disagreeable  subject  I  have  just  mentioned. 
You  may  as  well  look  on  the  bright  side  of  religion  as  on 
the  bright  side  of  anything  else,  and  you  know  we  are 
always  having  maxims  of  this  kind  thrown  at  us.  This  is 
the  religion  the  present  pastor  of  Fairview  believes  in, 
and  this  is  the  religion  he  will  teach,  though  I  have  not 
taught  much  of  it  to-day,  for  I  have  not  mentioned  the 
subject  at  all  until  now.  But  I  only  came  in  to  say  I  was 
glad  to  see  you,  and  will  go  out  again,"  he  said,  rising.  "  I 
am  becoming  very  worldly  of  late,  for  I  have  been  think 
ing  all  day  of  how  the  potatoes  and  corn  I  ploughed  last 
week  are  getting  on  rather  than  of  sermons,  and  I  am  so 
sleepy  now  that  you  perhaps  noticed  me  blinking.  I  am 
also  forgetting  a  great  deal  of  my  theology  in  the  hunger 
which  constantly  besets  me,  and  if  I  raise  nothing  at  all 
this  year  I  will  feel  well  repaid  for  my  work  by  the  good 
health  I  have  enjoyed.  When  you  return  home  expresi 
my  thanks  to  your  father  for  his  sermon." 

As  he  went  out  I  thought  if  he  was  not  a  remarkable 
preacher  he  was  certainly  a  good  man.  His  respectable 
vife  followed,  and  as  she  had  not  said  a  word  I  thought 
re  should  not  miss  her  company. 

a  I  waa  just  saying  to  Miss  Shepherd,"  Jo  said,  coming 


142  THE  STORY  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

over  to  me,  "that  you  and  I  have  been  fast  friends  sinct 
you  were  born.  When  I  was  a  very  little  fellow  and  Ned 
only  a  baby  he  loved  me,  and  was  happier  with  me  than 
with  anyone  else.  It  seems  queer  that  anyone  should  live 
to  be  seventeen  years  old  and  have  no  other  intimate  friend 
than  his  sister's  boy." 

He  addressed  the  remark  to  Mateel,  but  she  did  not 
seem  sure  whether  it  was  queer  or  not ;  she  was  never  cer 
tain  of  anything,  like  her  father. 

"  I  have  an  idea  that  we  shall  be  old  men  together,  and 
die  greatly  regretted  by  one  another,"  Jo  continued.  "I 
should  be  content  with  a  very  few  friends  like  Ned ;  a  man 
cannot  do  justice  to  a  great  many  as  true  and  good  as  he 
is.  If  I  were  wealthy  I  should  build  a  high  wall  around 
my  house,  and  station  a  surly  porter  at  the  gate  instructed 
to  admit  only  a  very  few.  It  is  one  of  the  disadvantages 
of  the  trade  I  am  learning  that  I  shall  be  expected  to  be 
sociable  with  every  kind  of  men.  I  shall  never  be  free  to 
tell  those  I  dislike  to  forever  keep  off  my  premises,  as  I 
should  like  to  do,  but  in  order  to  live  I  shall  be  compelled 
to  treat  them  well  for  their  patronage.  It  has  been  my 
experience  that  only  two  men  out  of  every  ten  have  quali 
ties  worthy  of  cultivation,  but  it  would  be  ruinous  to  intro 
duce  such  a  doctrine  into  the  mill  business." 

I  saw  that  Jo  was  in  an  odd  humor,  for  he  had  forgotten 
that  he  should  make  himself  agreeable,  and,  stopped  occa 
sionally  to  think.  Pretending  not  to  notice  it,  I  exchanged 
the  little  gossip  of  the  neighborhood  with  Mateel,  until  Jo 
aaid,  with  an  effort  to  shake  off  his  gloomy  thoughts :  — 

"  Miss  Shepherd,  I  should  like  to  hear  you  sing." 

Mateel  laughed  a  little  at  this  sudden  invitation,  but 
good-naturedly  opened  the  instrument,  and,  after  selecting 
*  piece,  sang  it.  The  words  were  of  constancy,  and  of  9 
lover  who  went  mad  on  learning  that  his  mistress  ha<J 
redded  his  rival. 


JO  ON  LOVE  AND  MARRIAGE.  148 

*  It  'g  a  gong  about  love,"  Jo  said,  after  Mateel  bad  fin- 
ighed  it,  picking  up  the  music  and  looking  curiously  at  the 
title-page.  "Most  song- writers  take  that  for  a  subject. 
Do  you  believe  the  story  it  tells  ?  " 

"  I  sang  it  because  I  believed  it,"  Mateel  said,  wincing 
under  Jo's  cold  and  steady  gaze  (he  was  in  a  very  odd 
humor  indeed).  "  I  believe  in  but  one  love." 

"  There  are  so  many  people  who  believe  in  two  or  three, 
or  half  a  dozen.  I  suppose  you  do ;  all  good  people  are 
very  honorable  in  matters  of  this  kind.  Sometimes  very 
bad  people  believe  in  it  —  I  do,  for  one." 

I  have  thought  of  this  very  often  since,  for  a  great  deal 
that  was  horrible  might  have  been  avoided  had  the  con 
versation  been  candid  on  both  sides. 

"  I  would  be  afraid  of  getting  in  love's  way,"  he  said, 
as  though  we  had  been  accusing  him.  "  They  say  it^never 
runs  smooth,  and  I  should  be  very  unhappy  were  it  to  be 
interrupted.  The  writer  speaks  of  the  heart's  silent 
secrets.  That  seems  to  be  the  general  heart  trouble ;  it 
is  a  repository  of  secrets,  and  always  uncomfortable  ones. 
The  subject  makes  me  miserable;  I  never  thought  of 
it  in  my  life  that  I  did  not  at  once  become  disagree 
able." 

Mateel  laughed  merrily  at  this,  and  said  people  usually 
thought  of  it  to  be  gay. 

"  But  it  is  a  most  serious  subject  after  all.  If  a  man 
makes  a  mistake  in  any  other  matter  it  is  easily  remedied ; 
a  day's  work,  and  he  is  as  well  as  ever,  but  a  mistake  in 
love  is  r  it  so  easily  mended.  It  may  make  life  a  failure, 
and  cause  a  man  to  rest  uneasily  in  his  grave.  If  I  should 
eave  a  wife  at  death,  and  she  should  marry  again,  my 
very  clay  weald  cry  out  in  agony  at  the  thought.  TTnder 
*uch  circumstances  I  should  long  to  be  an  unhappy  ghost, 
that  I  might  be  free  to  walk  the  earth  and  fill  her  nights 


144  THE   STORY  OF   A  COUNTRY  TOWK. 

with  terror.  I  hope  I  am  not  naturally  of  an  ugly  dispo 
sition,  but  if  this  misfortune  should  happen  to  me,  I  would 
resign  my  place  in  heaven  and  jcin  the  devils,  in  ordef 
that  I  might  be  wicked  and  cruel  in  my  revenge." 

1  had  never  seen  Jo  in  such  a  serious  mood  before,  and 
mentioned  it.  His  old,  cheerful  smile  returned  for  a  mo 
ment  as  he  made  some  good-natured  response,  but  as  he 
kept  on  thinking  it  was  soon  replaced  with  a  frown. 
Mateel  seemed  to  enjoy  his  mood,  and  encouraged  it  by 
saying  that  a  man  had  a  different  opinion  of  love  every 
year  of  his  life. 

"  I  never  had  an  opinion  on  the  subject  at  all  until  this 
year,"  was  his  reply,  "  but  I  will  tell  you  what  I  think  of 
it  next  year,  and  the  next.  If  I  am  of  the  same  opinion 
then  as  now,  you  can  give  me  the  credit  that  my  first  im 
pressions  represented  me.  My  first  impressions  of  the 
subject  are  that  I  would  as  soon  marry  a  widow  as  a  girl 
who  had  been  in  love  before.  If  I  were  the  king  of  a 
country  I  would  punish  second  marriage  with  death,  and 
make  it  unlawful  for  a  man  or  woman  to  be  engaged  more 
than  once,  thus  preventing  the  marital  unhappiness  whicb 
I  am  sure  always  results  when  either  the  wife  or  husband 
knows  the  other  has  been  in  love  before." 

Mateel  laughed  so  heartily  over  this  absurd  idea  that 
I  joined  her  in  spite  of  myself,  though  I  knew  Jo  was 
very  serious,  and  he  looked  at  us  both  as  though  we 
were  attending  his  funeral  and  in  good  spirits  over  the 
grave. 

"  I  came  here  to  pass  a  pleasant  evening,"  I  saic1  to  him, 
"  but  if  you  continue  in  this  humor  we  shall  all  have  th* 
horrors  presently." 

"  I  should  n't  have  begun,"  be  said,  walking  ove**  to  th<? 
music  rack  (to  look  for  a  hornpipe,  I  thought),  "but  1 
said  no  more  than  I  really  feel  We  will  **t.tle  it 


A  GLOOMY  LOVER.  145 

with  that,  and  I  will  never  make  you  uncomfortable  again 
by  ^f erring  to  the  subject." 

Having  selected  a  more  cheerful  song  we  tried  to  sing 
it  together,  but  it  was  a  failure,  and  the  evening  dragged 
heavily  after  that,  so  much  so  that  Jo  announced  his  in 
tention  to  go  quite  early. 

"  I  was  never  gloomy  in  my  life  before,"  he  said  to 
Mateel  on  parting.  "  I  don't  know  what  caused  me  to  be 
to-night,  for  I  am  usually  happier  here  than  anywhere  else. 
It  must  have  been  the  gloomy  poet  whose  song  you  sang. 
I  hope  you  will  forgive  me.  When  I  come  again  we  will 
not  speak  of  love.  I  know  so  little  of  it  that  J  can't  be 
entertaining  talking  about  it." 

Perhaps  your  ignorance  of  love,  Jo,  will  prove  more 
serious  than  you  expect.  Had  you  more  knowledge  of  it 
you  would  know  that  your  lonely  fancies  are  wrong,  and 
that  there  is  not  such  a  woman  in  the  world  as  you  have 
created,  and  no  such  love  as  you  expect.  Perhaps  had 
you  mingled  more  with  the  world  you  would  have  known 
this  and  saved  yourself  much  unhappiness. 

I  went  out  ahead  of  him,  and  he  remained  inside  talking 
for  a  few  moments.  Mateel  seemed  to  be  assuring  him 
that  she  was  not  offended,  and  I  heard  him  thank  her, 
quietly  say  his  adieus,  and  close  the  door. 

We  rode  a  considerable  distance  in  silence,  for  I  was 
waiting  for  Jo  to  speak,  as  he  had  to  my  mind  emerged 
from  boyhood  to  manhood  since  coming  to  the  mill  to  live, 
and  I  was  no*  as  free  in  his  company  as  I  had  been  at 
home. 

"I  have  made  poor  progress  to-night,"  he  said,  at  last, 
u  but  I  was  not  comfortable  while  there,  for  some  reason, 
und  now  I  am  not  satisfied  when  I  am  away.  The  next 
time  I  go  there  I  intend  to  tell  Mateel  that  I  am  madly 
\Q  love  with  he' .  I  suppose  she  will  call  her  father  and 


146  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

order  me  out  of  the  house,  but  I  can't  stand  this  suspense 
I  have  a  notion  to  send  you  on  home  and  go  back  now." 

He  stopped  in  the  road  to  consider  it,  but,  recollecting 
that  it  would  be  a  ridiculous  performance,  rode  on  again. 

"  My  love  for  her  has  taken  such  complete  possession  of 
me  that  I  shall  be  fit  for  nothing  else  until  I  know  what 
I  am  to  expect.  If  I  were  older,  and  not  so  poor,  J 
would  go  back  to-night,  declare  my  love,  and  insist  that 
she  forever  reject  me  or  marry  me  in  five  minutes. 
But  even  if  she  accepts  me  —  when  I  offer  myself  —  it 
will  be  years  before  I  can  hope  to  possess  her.  I  have 
always  been  waiting  —  first  for  release  from  your  father, 
then  for  release  from  Barker,  and  now  for  Mateel.  I 
would  sell  myself  to  the  Devil  to-night,  to  be  delivered  in 
four  or  five  years,  for  a  little  age,  a  home  of  my  own,  and 
Mateel  for  my  wife  —  NOW,  not  to  wait  a  minute." 

He  had  said  NOW !  so  loudly  that  it  sounded  like  a 
signal  for  the  Devil  to  appear  and  complete  the  bargain 
of  which  he  had  spoken,  and  was  so  stern  that  I  waa 
afraid  of  him. 

"I  must  curb  this  terrible  passion  or  it  will  do  me 
serious  injury.  There  is  nothing  in  store  for  me  except 
waiting  and  working,  and  I  fear  that  by  the  tune  I  accom 
plish  what  I  desire  I  shall  be  so  tired  and  indifferent  that 
I  cannot  enjoy  it  as  I  would  now.  But  if  I  am  as  happy 
when  I  possess  her  as  I  think  I  shall  be,  I  will  whip  the 
man  who  says  this  is  not  a  happy  world.  If  she  is  given 
to  me,  I  shall  make  her  a  queen  if  it  is  possible.  My  only 
fear  is  that  being  of  a  poor  family  I  shall  not  be  able  to 
accomplish  all  I  desire.  Barker  says  an  industrious  man 
tan  accomplish  more  than  a  talented  one ;  if  that  is  true 
I  will  make  Mateel  proud  of  me,  and  cause  her  to  blesa 
the  day  she  came  to  Fairview  to  live.  But  I  intend  to 
Uklk  leM  in  the  future,  and  do  more." 


IMPATIENCE.  147 

He  urged  his  horse  into  a  gallop,  and  dashed  through 
the  dark  woods  like  a  man  on  fire,  and  I  followed,  expect- 
Ing  every  moment  to  be  thrown  off  and  injured.  1  did 
not  come  entirely  up  with  him  until  we  had  reached  the 
mill,  and  after  putting  away  the  horses  we  went  at  once 
to  bed,  where  Jo  no  doubt  spent  the  night  in  waiting  for 
sUylight,  that  he  might  commence  to  distinguish 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

I  AM  SURPRISED 

MATTERS  were  going  from  bad  to  worse  at  Fair 
view.  My  father  had  been  away  to  the  country 
town  a  week,  and  had  not  yet  returned. 

As  the  attendance  on  the  summer  school  was  small, 
Agnes  managed  to  come  home  very  early,  and  go  away 
very  late,  so  that  we  were  like  three  happy  children  having 
a  holiday,  for  my  mother  remained  up  with  us  until  mid 
night,  if  we  did  not  get  sleepy  before  that  time,  talking 
very  little,  but  quietly  enjoying  our  company,  as  though 
it  was  a  pleasure  usually  denied  her.  I  told  them  all  I 
knew  about  Jo,  Mateel,  Barker,  his  strange  sister,  and 
Clinton  Bragg,  inventing  incidents  whenever  the  interest 
threatened  to  flag,  and  Agnes  was  always  entertaining, 
BO  that  we  were  very  happy  during  that  week. 

It  was  the  Saturday  night  after  my  return  from  the 
mill,  when  we  were  beginning  to  be  seriously  alarmed  about 
my  father's  long  absence,  and  just  after  we  had  agreed  that 
something  should  be  done  about  it,  the  door  opened,  and 
he  walked  in.  I  had  been  expecting  him  to  return  in  a 
bad  humor,  but  much  to  my  surprise  he  was  in  a  very  good 
humor,  and  appeared  to  be  pleased  about  something,  as 
though  he  had  accomplished  all  he  desired,  and  was  good 
enough  to  ask  me  if  I  had  enjoyed  myself  at  Barker's. 

My  mother  and  Agnes  went  out  to  the  kitchen  at  once 

to  prepare  his   supper,  and  he   followed   them  to  talk 

while  they  were  about  it.     He  had  brought  them  presents, 

Mio,  holding  up  the  packages,  asked  them  to  guess  what 

14ft 


FROM  COUNTRY  TO  TOWN.  149 

they  were,  and  when  they  failed  he  laughed,  and  asked 
them  to  guess  again.  I  looked  on  in  wonder,  and  after  he 
had  seated  himself  at  the  table,  and  commenced  eating 
without  asking  a  blessing,  he  astonished  us  all  by  say 
ing:— 

"  Well,  I  have  bought  the  *  Union  of  States '  newspaper, 
and  a  house  in  Twin  Mounds,  and  we  move  there  to  live 
next  Monday.  What  do  you  all  think  of  it  ?  " 

We  were  so  much  surprised  that  we  could  not  say  what 
we  thought  of  it,  and  he  continued :  — 

"  I  have  been  making  the  trade  for  several  weeks,  but 
only  finally  closed  it  to-day,  and  I  now  hold  the  keys  of 
the  establishment  in  my  pocket.  The  house  in  which  we 
are  to  live  is  vacant,  and  I  will  go  over  with  Ned  on  Mon 
day,  and  Lee  and  his  sons  are  already  engaged  to  com 
mence  moving  the  next  day.  This  may  seem  very  sudden 
to  you,  but  I  have  been  thinking  of  it  for  months,  and  am 
already  impatient  at  the  delay.  The  farm  will  be  rented 
to  Lee,  and  his  newly-married  son  will  occupy  this  house 
There  is  no  reason  I  can  think  of  why  we  should  not 
move  at  once.  In  a  month  I  shall  drive  over  and  attend 
the  sale,  which  I  have  already  advertised,  and  then  I  shall 
be  through." 

Taking  from  his  pocket  a  roll  of  hand-bills,  which  were 
apparently  fresh  from  the  press,  he  handed  each  of  us  one. 
It  began  with  the  heading  "  Public  Sale,"  and  stated  that 
the  undersigned,  having  bought  the  "  Union  of  States " 
newspaper  in  Twin  Mounds,  would  offer  at  public  sale,  on 
the  mentioned  date,  at  his  farm  a  half  mile  north  of  Fair- 
view  church,  the  following  stock,  implements,  and  effects. 
Here  followed  a  long  list  of  cattle,  horses,  ploughs,  etc., 
with  which  I  was  very  familiar,  and  I  remember  thinking 
they  all  looked  exceedingly  well  in  print. 

u  I  am  tired  of  Fairview,"  he  said,  pushing  back  from 


160  THE  STOKY  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

the  table,  and  resuming  his  old  habit  of  thoughtfuLnesa 
u  I  am  tired  of  its  work  and  drudgery.  I  don't  dislike 
work,  but,  like  other  men,  I  am  anxious  that  it  pay  me  ai 
much  as  possible.  I  ghail  continue  to  work  as  hard  as  ever, 
but  I  hope  to  more  purpose.  I  make  little  enough  here 
except  in  latii  speculations;  that  I  can  continue,  and  do 
more  of.  The  profession  I  have  chosen  will  afford  me  op 
portunity  to  study ;  that  will  be  a  part  of  my  work,  and 
we  can  live  more  genteelly  in  town  than  we  have  lived 
here.  I  feel  that  ten  more  years  on  a  farm  would  make 
me  an  old  man,  whereas  I  should  at  that  time  only  reach 
my  prune.  These  are  briefly  the  reasons  why  I  made  the 
change.  I  have  figured  it  out ;  it  will  pay.  I  could  not 
afford  to  make  a  mistake  in  this  particular." 

I  thought  of  the  long  rows  of  figures  which  he  had 
lately  been  casting  up  in  his  private  book,  and  the  hours 
he  spent  in  pondering  over  the  result. 

"  Three  men  are  now  necessary  to  do  the  work  in  pub 
lishing  the  '  Union  of  States.'  In  a  year  Ned  and  I  will 
be  able  to  do  it  ourselves,  for  we  will  work  as  hard  there 
as  here,  but,  as  I  have  said,  to  more  purpose.  The  time  a 
boy  spends  in  learning  the  trade  of  a  printer  is  equal  to 
BO  much  tune  at  school,  therefore  Ned  will  practically  be 
at  school  summer  and  winter,  and  of  some  use  besides. 
The  boy  is  now  reaching  an  age  when  his  education  should 
be  attended  to,  and  to  all  intents  and  purposes  he  will  be 
gin  a  term  in  an  academy  next  Monday." 

He  got  up  at  this  and  went  to  bed,  leaving  us  to  talk 
about  it.  From  the  cold  and  cheerless  manner  in  which  he 
•aid  I  would  be  able  to  do  the  work  of  a  man  and  a  half 
In  a  year,  I  judged  there  was  to  be  little  idleness  for  me 
in  the  new  place,  and  besides  my  work  he  expected  me  tc 
look  after  my  education,  which  had  certainly  been  n» 
fleeted  in  the  past. 


THE  "UNION  OF  STATES."  151 

Although  the  paper  had  been  coming  to  the  house  for 
years  we  had  paid  but  little  attention  to  it,  so  Agnes  and  I 
took  the  lamp  and  ransacked  everywhere  for  a  copy  of  the 
"  Union  of  States,"  that  we  might  examine  it  in  a  new 
light.  We  found  one  at  last,  artistically  notched,  and 
doing  duty  on  a  pantry  shelf.  It  was  a  sheet  of  eight  col 
umns  to  the  page,  printed  in  large  type,  and  we  could  not 
help  admitting  (it  was  really  the  case)  that  it  was  well 
printed,  and  very  fair  looking.  I  read  most  of  the  adver 
tisements  aloud,  and  wondered  whether  we  should  speedily 
become  acquainted  with  the  parties,  or  whether  years 
would  be  required  to  get  into  their  aristocratic  circles,  for 
hi  connection  with  statements  that  they  carried  the  prin 
cipal  stocks  of  goods  in  their  line  in  the  West,  at  that 
distance  they  seemed  very  important  and  distinguished. 
However,  as  they  all  claimed  the  distinction  of  being  the 
leading  merchant  of  Twin  Mounds,  I  thought  that  per 
haps  the  advertisements  were  overdrawn,  and  that  I  might 
know  them,  at  least  by  sight,  within  a  few  months. 

There  was  almost  a  full  page  of  law  notices,  some  of 
them  from  adjoining  counties,  where  newspapers  were  not 
published ;  at  the  foot  of  each  one  was  printed,  "  Printer's 
fee,  $12,"  and  it  occurred  to  me  that  most  of  the  revenue 
was  derived  from  this  source.  I  read  four  or  five  of  these, 
but  as  they  were  all  in  nearly  the  same  language,  I  gave 
it  up. 

There  was  also  a  large  advertisement  of  the  paper  itself, 
occupying  two  full  columns,  commencing  with  the  figures 
of  the  year  in  which  it  was  established,  and  the  figures  of 
the  current  year  (from  which  I  made  out  that  the  paper 
had  been  published  seven  years), followed  by  "Subscribe," 
u  Subscribe,"  in  large  black  letters.  Then  came  a  long 
platform  of  dull  political  principles,  and  a  declaration  that 
it  was  the  duty  of  every  good  citizen  to  take  it,  because  it 


152  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

advocated  Benton  County  first,  and  the  world  afterward. 
After  this  came  a  paragraph,  separated  from  the  other  part 
of  the  advertisement  by  dashes  and  o's  ( — o — o — ),  stating 
that  job  printing  in  all  its  branches,  from  a  mammoth  postei 
to  the  most  delicate  visiting  card,  would  be  neatly  and 
promptly  executed  on  the  new  and  fast  presses  belonging 
to  the  establishment,  and  immediately  above  the  informa 
tion  that  all  letters  should  be  addressed  to  the  proprietor 
to  insure  prompt  attention  (as  though  there  had  once  been 
a  habit  of  sending  letters  intended  for  the  printer  to  the 
blacksmith),  it  was  said  that  one  copy  one  year  would  be 
two  dollars,  invariably  in  advance ;  one  copy  six  mouths, 
one  dollar,  also  invariably  in  advance;  one  copy  three 
months,  fifty  cents,  also  invariably  in  advance ;  and  that 
eingle  copies  in  neat  wrappers  for  mailing  could  be  had  oil 
application  at  five  cents  each. 

We  had  no  idea  what  the  business  was  like,  and  sat 
there  until  midnight  discussing  and  wondering  about  it, 
occasionally  referring  to  the  sheet  to  prove  or  disprove  a 
notion  advanced  by  one  of  the  number.  My  own  idea 
was  that  the  paper  was  bought  in  a  distant  market,  as  an 
article  of  merchandise,  and  that  my  part  of  the  business 
would  be  to  stand  behind  a  counter  and  sell  copies  at  an 
advance  in  connection  with  mammoth  posters  and  delicate 
visiting  cards,  but  Agnes  said  that  while  she  knew  nothing 
about  the  newspaper  business,  she  was  certain  that  idea 
was  wrong,  and  so  it  turned  out. 

When  I  suggested  that  Agnes  could  no  longer  live  with 
as  —  it  occurred  to  me  all  of  a  sudden,  very  late  in  the 
evening,  and  almost  took  my  breath  away  —  my  mothe* 
\who  had  evidently  not  thought  of  it  before,  either)  got 
up  hurriedly,  and  went  out  of  the  room.  I  expressed  th« 
fear  that  she  had  gone  away  to  cry  about  it,  whereupon 


AGNES.  158 

Agnes  went  after  her,  and  came  leading  her  back  pres 
ently,  with  her  arms  tenderly  about  her. 

"  I  can  come  over  every  Saturday,"  Agnes  said,  "  and 
we  shall  all  be  so  busy  during  the  week  as  not  to  notice 
the  separation.  I  shall  miss  you  more  than  you  can  pos 
sibly  miss  me,  for  I  always  think  of  this  as  my  home,  but 
it  is  not  far,  and  we  shall  often  be  together.  My  school 
will  be  out  in  three  weeks,  when  I  will  come  over  and 
stay  until  you  are  tired  of  me." 

As  though  we  should  ever  tire  of  Agnes!  But  my 
mother  would  not  be  comforted,  and  continued  to  cry 
softly  to  herself — thinking,  I  have  no  doubt,  that  she  was 
about  to  separate  from  the  only  creature  in  all  the  world 
who  had  ever  been  kind,  and  considerate,  and  fond  of  her. 
When  I  went  to  bed,  I  left  them  together,  Agnes  gently 
stroking  my  mother's  hair,  and  assuring  her  that  she  wag 
her  dear,  kind,  good  friend,  and  that  she  would  never  for 
get  how  welcome  she  had  always  been  made  in  her 


CHAPTER  XV, 

THE  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

£T  was  barely  daylight  the  following  Monday  morning 
when  I  started  with  my  father  for  Twin  Mounds, 
where  we  were  to  take  possession  of  the  "  Union  of 
States  "  newspaper.  As  we  were  getting  into  the  wagon, 
Agnes  came  out  to  hand  me  a  letter,  which  she  said  she 
had  written  the  night  before  because  opportunity  did  not 
present  itself  to  tell  me  what  it  contained.  As  my  father 
was  impatiently  waiting  to  start,  with  the  lines  in  his 
hands,  I  only  had  time  to  say  that  I  would  see  her  in  a 
few  weeks,  and,  kissing  my  hand  to  her,  we  drove  away. 
She  waved  her  handkerchief  until  we  were  out  of  sight, 
when  I  soon  forgot  her  and  the  letter  in  the  excitement 
of  the  visit  to  a  strange  place  and  the  engaging  in  a  work 
of  which  I  had  no  knowledge. 

My  father's  usual  humor  had  returned,  and  he  drove 
along  without  speaking,  except  occasionally  to  the  horses. 
Once  or  twice  he  began  to  sing  the  songs  for  which  he 
was  famous,  but  he  was  evidently  not  in  tune  that  day, 
for  he  soon  gave  it  up. 

I  had  never  been  to  Twin  Mounds,  as  there  wag  a  post- 
office  and  a  small  trading-place  several  miles  nearer,  and 
had  no  idea  tow  it  looked,  and  knew  nothing  of  it,  except 
that  it  had  a  brick  court-house,  a  stone  jail,  sever  a. 
•rooden  stores,  a  school-house,  and  about  six  hundred 
very  wicked  people.  This  I  had  incidentally  learned 
from  listening  to  people  talk  who  had  been  there,  and  J 

164 


THE  COUNTRY  TOWN.  155 

*ras  BO  occupied  in  thinking  it  all  over  that  I  had  no  in« 
clination  to  talk,  and  it  occurred  to  me  that  after  I  grew 
np,  perhaps  I  shall  be  a  thinking  man,  like  my  father,  for 
we  did  not  exchange  a  word  during  the  long  drive.  Sev 
eral  times  as  we  drove  along  I  caught  him  looking  at  me, 
and  I  thought  he  was  wondering  how  I  would  get  on  in 
the  new  business,  but  as  he  looked  away  quickly  when  I 
caught  him  at  it,  I  concluded  he  was  at  his  old  habit  of 
mentally  accusing  me  of  being  dull,  which  made  me  very 
wretched.  I  never  knew  what  his  objection  to  me  was, 
but  I  always  believed  that  when  he  looked  at  me,  and 
then  lesumed  his  thinking,  he  was  accusing  me  of  some 
thing. 

At  last  we  came  in  sight  of  the  place  —  we  came  upon 
it  suddenly,  after  reaching  a  high  place  which  overlooked 
it  —  and  I  occupied  myself  in  wondering  where  the  house 
in  which  we  were  to  live,  and  the  office  in  which  I  was  to 
work,  were  located,  until  we  stopped  at  a  place  where 
horses  were  cared  for,  adjoining,  and  evidently  belonging 
to  a  hotel,  in  front  of  which  a  swinging  sign  was  displayed 
under  a  bell,  announcing  that  the  Twin  Mounds  House 
was  kept  there.  I  noticed  that  all  the  business  places 
were  in  a  square,  in  the  centre  of  which  was  the  brick 
court-house,  and  in  one  corner  of  the  yard  the  stone  jail. 
In  a  valley  north  of  the  town  ran  a  river,  and  on  its  banks 
were  mills,  and  the  site  of  Twin  Mounds  had  evidently 
been  timbered  originally,  for  in  the  people's  yards  I  saw 
great  oak  and  hickory  trees,  and  the  woods  adjoined  the 
town  on  every  side.  Great  numbers  of  impudent  boys, 
dressed  in  a  rakish  fashion  with  which  I  was  not  at  all 
familiar,  abounded,  and  while  I  was  thinking  I  should  cer 
tainly  have  trouble  with  these,  my  father  started  down 
the  street  with  long  strides,  telling  me  to  follow. 

Stopping  in  front  of  a  low  wooden  building  which  had 


15b  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

evidently  been  used  at  some  time  in  its  history  as  a  dwel 
iing,  and  on  the  front  porch  of  which  was  a  board  sign 
reading  "  Printing  Office,"  we  went  in,  where  we  found 
three  men  —  two  with  paper  caps  on,  who  were  throwing 
their  arms  violently  around  over  a  high  stand,  and  the 
other,  a  pale  man  seated  at  a  desk,  who  was  evidently  the 
retiring  proprietor.  This  man  and  one  of  those  with  a 
paper  cap  on  his  head  spoke  pleasantly  to  my  father,  and 
looked  inquiringly  at  me. 

"  This  is  the  son  I  have  told  you  about,"  he  explained, 
pointing  at  me  as  if  1  were  a  bag  of  corn.  "  He  is  ready 
to  commence  learning  the  printer's  trade." 

This  was  addressed  to  one  of  the  men  who  wore  the 
paper  caps,  and  he  began  at  once  to  initiate  me  in  the 
mysteries  of  his  craft.  I  soon  learned  that  the  high  table 
at  which  he  worked  was  covered  with  shallow  boxes,  and 
that  each  one  contained  a  different  letter ;  every  character 
in  the  language  was  hid  away  in  the  nooks  and  corners, 
and  my  first  work  was  to  hunt  them  out,  and  remember 
them  for  future  reference.  This  I  began  immediately, 
and  became  so  interested  in  it  that  I  did  not  notice  for 
some  time  that  a  number  of  the  rakish-looking  boys  I  had 
seen  when  first  driving  into  the  town  had  collected  out- 
eide  the  window  to  look  at  me.  These  were  evidently 
the  town  boys  of  whom  I  had  heard,  and  no  doubt  they 
were  waiting  for  me  to  come  out  and  fight,  to  see  of  what 
kind  of  stuff  I  was  made.  It  was  the  understanding  in 
the  country  that  all  town  boys  were  knockers,  and  that 
every  country  boy  who  went  there  to  live  must  fight  his 
way  to  respectability.  They  were  less  ferocious  than  I 
had  expected,  and  as  I  was  much  stronger  than  any  oi 
them,  I  should  have  gone  out  and  thrown  them  all  over 
the  house,  but  for  the  fact  that  my  father  did  not  coun 
tenance  fighting.  They  were  generally  delicate-looking 


THE  PRINTING  OFFICE.  157 

~-from  high  living  and  idleness,  I  thought  —  and  \*hile  I 

was  engaged  with  pleasant  thoughts  to  myself  that  whei 
Jo  came  over  we  would  capture  Twin  Mounds,  my  atten 
tion  was  called  to  the  circumstance,  by  my  friend  in  the 
oaper  cap,  that  it  was  noon,  and  that  my  father  evidenth 
intended  that  I  should  go  out  with  him  to  dinner,  for  ht 
had  gone  himself  without  making  any  other  arrange 
ment. 

I  had  heard  them  call  him  Martin,  and  he  appeared  to 
be  very  much  of  a  gentleman,  for  before  we  went  out  he 
showed  me  through  the  establishment,  and  explained  as 
much  of  it  as  he  thought  I  could  understand.  The  press 
"Fas  in  a  little  room  by  itself  —  there  was  but  one,  al 
though  I  remembered  that  hi  the  advertisement  it  was 
said  that  the  office  was  supplied  with  new  and  fast 
presses  —  and  from  the  paper  on  the  wall  I  judged  that 
the  former  owner  of  the  house  had  occupied  that  parti 
cular  part  of  it  with  a  bed.  Back  of  that  was  a  place  for 
plunder,  formerly  a  kitchen,  and  back  of  that  still  a  yard 
and  a  deserted  garden.  There  was  also  in  the  yard  a 
large  oak-tree,  and  to  the  branches  of  this  was  suspended 
a  hammock,  in  which  Martin  said  1  might  sometimes 
s>eep,  if  I  became  a  friend  of  his,  as  he  had  no  doubt  I 
should. 

While  we  walked  to  the  hotel  he  explained  that  he  was 
the  foreman,  and  that,  as  I  was  to  learn  the  trade  under 
him,  we  should  be  a  great  deal  together. 

"  It  is  not  much  of  a  trade,"  he  said,  "  and  if  you  are  a 
bright  boy  you  will  speedily  acquire  it.  You  can  learn 
it  in  six  months,  or  three  years,  just  as  you  please,  for  I 
have  known  boys  to  become  excellent  printers  in  six 
months,  while  others,  with  thicker  heads,  were  about  it 
three  or  four  years.  But  as  your  father  said  you  were  to 
ilay  with  me  to-night,  I  will  tell  you  more  about  it  then." 


158  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

Going  into  the  hotel,  we  found  a  large  number  of  met 
seated  at  a  long  table  in  a  long  room,  every  one  eating 
hurriedly,  as  though  oppressed  with  the  fear  that  th« 
lupply  in  the  kitchen  was  likely  to  give  out  before  they 
were  filled.  Near  the  head  of  the  table  sat  my  father  and 
the  pale  proprietor,  and  between  them  and  Martin  the 
other  man  who  wore  the  paper  cap,  whose  name  seemed 
to  be  Adams,  from  which  circumstance  I  thought  there 
was  no  other  hotel  in  the  place.  Opposite  him  sat  Clinton 
Bragg,  I  noticed  with  some  astonishment,  forgetting  for  a 
moment  that  Twin  Mounds  was  his  home,  and  he  looked 
as  sullen  and  mean  as  ever,  but  he  was  not  so  well  dressed 
as  when  I  had  seen  him  at  Fairview.  He  could  not  help 
being  aware  of  my  father's  presence,  but  they  had  evi 
dently  mutually  agreed  not  to  renew  their  acquaintance, 
though  I  noticed  that  Bragg  stopped  working  his  jaws 
when  my  father  was  speaking  to  his  companion,  and 
listened  to  what  was  being  said,  as  though  he  wondered 
how  it  came  we  were  both  there. 

Some  of  the  other  men  were  flashily  dressed,  and  some 
of  them  plainly,  and  they  talked  a  great  deal  to  each 
other  about  their  business,  and  by  listening  to  this  I 
learned  which  of  them  occupied  shops,  and  stores,  and 
offices,  and  which  one  was  the  driver  of  the  stage  that 
made  two  trips  a  week  to  a  railroad  station  a  long 
way  off. 

The  dinner  was  served  in  large  plates,  distributed  at 
convenient  distances  apart,  and  two  smart  girls  in  stiff 
aprons  and  dresses  were  in  attendance  should  any  one 
think  anything  additional  could  be  had  by  asking  for  it, 
and  both  of  them  seemed  to  be  or.  very  confidential  terms 
with  the  boarders,  for  they  talked  to  them  familiarly,  and 
called  them  tiresome,  and  impudent,  and  I  don't  knoT* 
what  all.  A  small  man  with  a  hump  on  his  back,  who 


TROUBLE  AHEAD.  1&9 

Docasionai~y  came  into  the  room,  I  took  to  be  the  pro* 
prietor,  and  Martin  told  me  afterwards  that  I  was  right, 
and  that  while  he  was  rather  an  agreeable  man,  his  health 
was  wretched.  After  most  of  the  boarders  had  gone  out, 
his  wife  came  in  with  her  family,  and  from  her  conversa 
tion  I  learned  that  she  conducted  a  shop  for  making 
bonnets  and  dresses  in  the  parlor  of  the  house,  and  that 
business  was  dreadfully  dull. 

I  spent  the  afternoon  in  studying  the  mystery  of  the 
boxes,  and  was  encouraged  to  find  all  the  letters  of  my 
name.  My  father  was  very  busy  at  the  desk  with  the 
pale  proprietor,  posting  himself  with  reference  to  his 
future  work,  and  was  very  careful  and  thorough  in  his  in 
quiries  into  the  details,  from  which  I  believed  he  would 
speedily  become  accustomed  to  his  new  position.  The 
pale  proprietor  was  evidently  not  accustomed  to  so  much 
work  in  one  afternoon,  for  he  yawned  frequently,  and 
seemed  bored,  but  my  father  kept  him  at  it  steadily. 

Half  the  boys  belonging  in  the  town  appeared  at  the 
window  before  night  to  look  at  me,  and  I  noticed  with 
alarm  that  they  were  not  all  pale  and  sickly,  as  the  first 
lot  had  been,  which  evidently  meant  trouble  ahead. 
Several  of  them  wore  their  father's  boots  and  coats,  with 
leather  belts  around  their  bodies,  which  they  buckled  up 
from  tune  to  time  as  the  afternoon  wore  away,  and  most 
of  them  chewed  plug  tobacco,  which  was  passed  around 
by  a  boy  I  judged  belonged  to  a  storekeeper.  Occasion 
ally  they  got  up  a  game,  and  tried  to  play  at  it,  but  t«e 
intei  est  soon  flagged,  and  they  returned  to  the  window  to 
look  at  me.  Once  when  they  became  more  noisy  than 
usual,  the  printer  named  Adams  dashed  out,  and  drove 
them  away  as  he  would  chase  so  many  hens,  but  they 
BQOO  came  back  again,  and  stared  at  me.  I  pretended 
ftot  to  notice  them,  as  though  they  were  of  no  conse- 


160  THE  STOBY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

quence,  but  they  made  me  verj  miserable,  for  they  weif 
evidently  the  town  boys  I  had  been  warned  against. 

There  was  one  who  appeared  late  in  the  afternoon  wh« 
looked  particularly  like  a  fighter,  and  the  others  immedi 
ately  gathered  around  him  to  tell  him  of  my  arrival.  He 
was  so  bow-legged  that  I  thought  it  would  be  impossible 
tD  get  him  off  his  feet  when  the  inevitable  clash  came, 
for  I  was  certain  he  was  the  boy  picked  out  to  do  me 
bodily  injury,  and  as  soon  as  he  had  been  told  of  my  ap 
pearance  among  them,  he  walked  straight  over  to  the 
window,  and,  flattening  his  nose  against  the  glass,  looked 
at  me  with  great  impudence.  I  thought  I  would  turn 
upon  him  suddenly,  and  frighten  him,  but  he  seemed 
rather  glad  that  I  had  turned  my  head,  that  he  might  see 
my  eyes  and  face.  Indeed,  instead  of  being  abashed,  he 
made  the  ugliest  face  at  me  I  have  ever  seen,  and,  draw, 
ing  back  from  the  window,  spit  at  me  through  a  vacancy 
in  his  lower  row  of  teeth.  He  remained  around  there  for 
an  hour  or  more,  walking  on  his  hands,  and  turning 
somersaults,  for  my  benefit,  and  once  he  lay  down  flat  in 
the  road,  and  invited  four  of  the  others  to  hold  him  there. 
The  ease  with  which  he  got  up  made  me  more  uncom 
fortable  than  ever.  Although  they  called  him  "  Shorty," 
he  was  really  a  very  long  boy  of  his  age,  and  wore  a  coat 
which  hung  about  him  in  shreds,  and  instead  of  a  shirt  he 
had  on  a  brown  duster,  tucked  into  a  pair  of  pants  as 
much  too  small  as  the  coat  was  too  large.  To  add  to  my 
discomfort,  I  heard  Adams  say  to  Martin  that  the  town 
authorities  really  ought  to  do  something  with  Shorty 
Wilkinson,,  for  he  was  always  fighting  and  hurting  some 
body. 

When  we  went  to  supper  at  the  hotel  the  same  men 
weri  there,  and,  as  I  expected,  Bragg  was  in  bettei 
humor,  promising  by  dark  to  be  agreeable.  His  principal 


TWIN  MOUNDS.  161 

characteristic  was  sullen  indifference,  s»nd  I  wondered  ii 
a  bonvb  exploded  under  his  chair  would  disturb  him. 
They  all  disliked  him,  evidently,  from  which  circumstance 
I  imagined  he  regarded  them  as  a  herd,  as  he  had  regarded 
ihe  people  of  Fairview.  Nobody  spoke  to  him  or  he  te 
an  j  one,  and  his  only  tribute  to  the  approaching  darkness 
was  a  noticeable  softening  in  his  indifference,  for  occasion 
ally  he  stopped  his  jaws  —  he  munched  his  food  like  an 
animal,  and  impatiently,  as  though  he  disliked  the  dis 
agreeable  necessity  of  having  a  habit  in  common  with 
such  people  —  to  listen  to  what  was  being  said,  but  at 
dinner  he  was  oblivious  to  everything.  He  went  out 
before  me,  and  when  I  passed  through  the  office  I  saw 
him  looking  at  a  copy  of  the  "  Union  of  States,"  and  I  was 
glad  we  had  not  yet  taken  charge,  for  I  was  sure  he  was 
making  fun  of  it. 

After  Martin  came  out  we  walked  down  to  the  house 
where  we  were  to  live,  which  was  a  considerable  distance 
down  the  street  from  where  the  hotel  was  kept,  and  which 
was  in  a  lonely  location  on  the  brow  of  *  hill  overlooking 
the  valley  and  the  mills.  Directly  opposite,  and  across 
the  river,  were  the  mounds  which  gave  the  town  ita 
name,  a  pair  of  little  mountains  where  it  was  said  the 
Indians  built  signal  fires  when  they  occupied  the  country, 
and  where  they  buried  their  dead,  for  human  bones 
were  often  found  there  by  curious  persons  who  dug 
among  the  rocks.  The  house  was  built  of  stone,  in 
the  centre  of  a  great  many  lots,  surrounded  by  heavy 
hardwood  trees,  and  as  we  went  through  the  rooms 
Martin  explained  that  it  had  been  occupied  long  before 
he  came  there  by  an  Indian  agent,  and  that  Twin  Moun<3« 
was  originally  an  agency,  where  the  Indians  came  to  draw 
Jieir  supplies.  But  the  agency  and  the  Indians  had  been 
removed  further  west  years  ago,  and  the  house  sold  to  an 


162  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

eccentric  bachelor,  who  occupied  it  alone  until  a  few 
months  before,  when  he  died,  and  the  place  being  offered 
for  sale,  it  came  into  possession  of  my  father.  It  was  two 
Btories  high,  built  in  such  a  manner  as  to  contain  six  large 
rooms  of  about  the  same  size,  and  there  were  iron  shut* 
ters  at  all  the  windows  and  doors,  and  the  roof  was  of 
alate,  which  Martin  said  was  a  precaution  the  agent  had 
taken  against  the  treachery  of  his  wards.  It  was  in  good 
repair,  but  I  feared  we  should  be  very  lonely  in  it,  and 
felt  better  when  we  were  out  in  the  street  again. 

Returning  to  the  office,  I  sat  with  him  until  dark  on  the 
little  porch  in  front,  on  top  of  which  was  the  long  "  Print 
ing  Office  "  sign,  and  I  became  convinced  that  I  should 
learn  rapidly  under  him,  for  he  took  great  pains  to  pre 
pare  me  for  the  work,  and  delivered  a  sort  of  lecture  with 
reference  to  printing  in  general  which  was  very  instruc 
tive.  He  said  after  a  while  that  he  would  go  out  and 
swing  in  the  hammock,  leaving  me  alone,  and  while  won 
dering  what  I  should  do  to  amuse  myself,  I  remembered 
the  letter  Agnes  had  given  me.  I  opened  it  eagerly,  and 
after  finding  a  light  with  some  difficulty,  read :  — 

MY  DEAB  NED  :  I  tried  to  get  an  opportunity  to  say  good-bye 
to  you  on  Sunday  night,  but  it  did  not  present  itself,  therefore  1 
write  you  this  letter. 

You  said  to  me  once  that  I  loved  every  one  in  Fairview  alike, 
which  is  very  near  the  truth  now  that  you  are  away,  for  I  thought 
more  of  you  than  any  of  them,  and  express  the  sentiment  since 
we  are  no  longer  to  be  together.  I  hope  it  will  be  a  comfort  to  you 
to  know  that  I  esteem  you  as  my  best  friend,  and  in  your  new 
home  I  desire  you  to  think  of  me  in  the  same  way,  for  I  shall  never 
change.,  If  I  have  been  a  blessing  to  you,  as  you  have  said,  so  yon 
have  been  to  me,  and  we  have  mutually  enjoyed  the  friendship  of 
the  years  we  were  together. 

It  is  natural  to  suppose  that  you  will  rapidly  improve  in  your 
MW  position.  I  sincerely  hope  you  will,  and  I  have  so  mucfc 
Bonfidence  in  you  that  I  have  no  favor  to  ask  except  that  YOU 


PROUD  OP  DRUNKENNESS.  16b 

Always  remain  my  worthy  friend.  My  greatest  ambition  foi  your 
future  is  that  your  boyhood  will  not  fill  your  manhood  with  regrets 
I  have  always  told  you  that  it  is  best  to  do  right  in  everything,  Mid 
while  you  may  not  succeed  in  this  entirely,  come  as  near  it  as  you 
can.  The  next  seven  years  will  be  the  most  precious  of  your  life, 
an  i  if  I  have  a  favor  to  ask  it  is  that  you  will  improve  them. 

I  believe  in  you,  and  shall  always  be  proud  of  your  friendship* 
It  has  been  manly,  pure,  and  honest,  and  all  the  more  acceptable 
because  I  have  neither  brothers  nor  sisters,  like  yourself.  In  one 
sens  3  you  have  been  my  prote"ge";  I  undertook  your  education,  and 
taught  you  more  at  home  than  at  school,  and  if  you  succeed  well  in 
life  (as  I  am  confident  you  will),  it  will  at  least  be  evidence  that  I 
did  the  best  I  could.  Probably  I  shall  be  your  last  teacher,  for 
your  father  is  a  busy  man,  and  will  no  doubt  train  you  in  his  way; 
therefore  I  hope  you  will  realize  how  necessary  it  is  that  you  apply 
yourself,  and  learn  whenever  there  is  opportunity.  There  is  noth 
ing  in  the  future  for  me  but  to  teach  other  deserving  boys,  but 
everything  for  you.  Do  the  best  you  can,  and  I  shall  be  proud 
of  you  all  my  life.  Always  your  friend, 

AGNBS. 

I  had  it  in  my  mind  to  sit  down  and  write  a  long  reply 
at  once,  but  much  to  my  surprise  Clinton  Bragg  came  in 
at  this  moment  and  interrupted  me.  From  what  he  said 
on  entering  I  judged  he  was  looking  for  the  printer  named 
Adams,  who  was  a  dissolute  fellow,  but  seeing  1  was  alone 
he  sat  down. 

I  had  disliked  Bragg  from  the  first,  but  he  seemed 
friendly  enough,  and,  taking  a  bottle  of  liquor  from  his 
pocket  asked  me  to  drink  with  him.  This  I  refused  to 
do;  whereupon  he  held  the  bottle  in  his  hand  a  long 
w\ile,  as  if  dreading  to  drink  it.  At  length  he  went  into 
HLother  room  and  returned  with  a  dipper  of  water,  after 
*bic!i  he  took  a  drink  of  the  liquor,  but  it  gagged  him  so 
that  he  could  n't  get  the  water  to  his  lips  to  put  out  the 
fire,  and  he  coughed  and  spit  in  such  a  manner  as  to 
alarm  me.  The  tears  were  standing  in  his  eyes  when  he 
finished. 

«*  Do  you  like  it?  "  I  asked. 


164  THE   STOKF  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

"  I  like  &OOD  liquor,"  he  replied,  wiping  the  tears  out 
of  his  eyes.  "  This  is  horrible.  I  believe  I  will  throw  it 
away." 

He  made  a  motion  as  if  to  toss  the  bottle  out  into  the 
street,  but  he  did  n't  do  it,  probably  reflecting  that  it  would 
do  very  well  to  carry  in  his  pocket. 

I  am  certain  that  he  came  in  to  let  me  know  that  he 
was  addicted  to  drink,  as  he  was  very  proud  of  that  repu 
tation,  and  although  liquor  was  revolting  to  him  he  was 
always  trying  to  create  the  impression  that  he  could  not 
possibly  let  it  alone.  I  inferred,  also,  that  be  was  well 
acquainted  around  the  establishment,  by  reason  of  his  asso 
ciation  with  Adams,  for  he  seemed  quite  at  home. 

"  Martin  don't  drink,"  he  said,  after  trying  to  revive  the 
stub  of  his  cigar,  and  several  ineffectual  attempts  to  light 
it  with  a  match.  "  Martin  does  nothing  that  is  not  sensi 
ble.  He  is  out  there  in  the  hammock  asleep  now,  while  I 
carouse  around  half  the  night.  Where  do  you  intend  to 
sleep?" 

I  replied  that  I  believed  I  was  to  sleep  there,  some 
where,  although  I  had  it  in  my  mind  to  say  it  was  none 
of  his  business.  I  showed  my  contempt  for  him  so 
plainly  that  he  was  ill  at  ease,  as  though  he  felt  that 
his  attempt  to  convince  me  that  he  was  a  drinking  man 
had  failed. 

"  There  is  a  cot  in  the  plunder  room ;  I  suppose  that  is 
for  you,"  he  said.  "  I  have  a  room  above  here.  I  believe 
I  will  wander  up  that  way,  and  go  to  bed." 

He  skulked  off  like  a  guilty  dog,  going  through  the 
oourt-house  yard,  and  stopped  occasionally  as  if  to  wonder 
if  something  that  would  amuse  him  were  not  going  on  at 
iome  of  the  places  lit  up  around  the  square.  Being  satis 
fied  at  last,  apparently,  that  the  same  old  loungers  were 
probably  there,  with  their  rude  jokes  and  uninteresting 
experiences,  he  turned  the  corner,  and  passed  out  of  sight 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

KOBE  OF  THE  VILLAGE  OF  TWIN  MOUNDS 

T~N  Twin  Mounds  the  citizens  spent  their  idle  time  is 
J-  religious  discussions,  and  although  I  lived  there  a  great 
many  years  I  do  not  remember  that  any  of  the  questioni 
in  dispute  were  ever  settled.  They  never  discussed  poli 
tics  with  any  animation,  and  read  but  little,  except  in  the 
Bible  to  find  points  to  dispute ;  but  of  religion  they  never 
tired,  and  many  of  them  could  quote  the  sacred  word  by 
the  page.  No  two  of  them  ever  exactly  agreed  in  their 
ideas,  for  men  who  thought  alike  on  baptism  violently 
quarrelled  when  the  resurrection  was  mentioned,  and  two 
of  them  who  engaged  a  hell-redemptionist  one  night  would 
in  all  probability  fail  to  agree  themselves  the  next,  on  the 
atonement.  The  merchants  neglected  their  customers, 
when  they  had  them,  to  discuss  points  in  the  Bible  which 
I  used  to  think  were  not  of  the  slightest  consequence,  and 
m  many  instances  the  mec  who  argued  the  most  were 
those  who  chased  deer  with  hounds  on  Sunday,  and  ran 
horse  races,  for  they  did  not  seem  to  discuss  the  subject 
so  much  on  account  of  its  importance  as  because  of  its 
fitness  as  a  topic  to  quarrel  about. 

There  was  always  a  number  of  famous  discussions  going 
on,  as  between  the  lawyer  and  the  storekeeper,  or  the 
blacksmith  and  the  druggist,  or  the  doctor  and  the  car 
penter,  and  whenever  I  saw  a  crowd  gathering  hurriedly 
in  the  evening  I  knew  that  two  of  the  disputants  had  got 
together  again  to  renew  their  old  difficulty,  which  the? 

165 


166  THE  STORY  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

kept  up  until  a  late  hour,  in  the  presence  of  half  the 
town. 

There  was  a  certain  man  who  kept  a  drug  store,  who 
was  always  in  nervous  excitement  from  something  a  fat 
blacksmith  had  said  to  him  in  their  discussions,  and  who 
had  a  habit  of  coming  in  on  him  suddenly  in  the  middle 
of  the  day;  and  whenever  I  went  into  the  place  of  busi 
ness  of  either  one  of  them  I  heard  them  telling  those 
present  how  they  had  triumphed  the  night  before,  or 
intended  to  triumph  on  a  future  occasion.  Some  of  the 
greatest  oaths  I  have  ever  heard  were  uttered  by  these 
men  while  discussing  religion,  and  frequently  the  little 
and  nervous  drug-store  keeper  had  to  be  forcibly  prevented 
from  jumping  at  his  burly  opponent  and  striking  him. 
The  drug  store  was  not  far  away  from  the  office  where 
I  worked,  and  whenever  loud  and  boisterous  talking 
was  heard  in  that  direction  a  smile  went  round,  for  we 
knew  the  blacksmith  had  suddenly  come  upon  his  enemy, 
and  attacked  him  with  something  he  had  thought  up  while 
at  his  work.  I  never  knew  exactly  what  the  trouble 
between  them  was,  though  I  heard  enough  of  it ;  but  I 
remember  that  it  had  some  reference  to  a  literal  resurrec 
tion,  and  a  new  body ;  and  I  often  thought  it  queer  that 
each  one  was  able  to  take  the  Bible  and  establish  his  posi 
tion  so  clearly.  Whenever  I  heard  the  blacksmith  talk  I 
wai  sure  that  the  druggist  was  wrong,  but  when  the 
druggist  called  upon  the  blacksmith  to  stop  right  there, 
and  began  his  argument,  I  became  convinced  that,  after 
all,  there  were  two  sides  to  the  question. 

These  tw3  men,  as  well  as  most  of  the  others,  were 
member«!  of  a  church  known  then  as  the  Campbellite,  foi 
F  do  not  remember  that  there  was  an  infidel  or  unbe- 
dever  in  the  place.  There  were  a  great  many  backsliders, 
but  none  of  them  ever  questioned  religion  itself,  thouglr 


THE  TWIN  MOUNDS 

they  co aid  never  agree  on  doctrine  It  has  occuried  to 
me  since  that  if  one  of  them  had  thought  to  dispute  tli€ 
inspiration  of  the  Bible,  and  argued  about  that,  the  people 
would  have  been  entirely  happy,  for  the  old  discussions 
in  time  became  very  tiresome. 

The  people  regarded  religion  as  a  struggle  between  the 
Campbellite  church  and  the  Devil,  and  a  sensation  wan 
developed  one  evening  when  my  father  remarked  to  the 
druggist,  in  the  presence  of  the  usual  crowd  —  he  hap 
pened  to  be  in  the  place  on  an  errand,  as  he  never  engaged 
in  the  amusement  of  the  town  —  that  sprinkling  answered 
every  purpose  of  baptism.  The  druggist  became  very 
much  excited  immediately  and  prepared  for  a  discussion, 
but  my  father  only  laughed  at  him  and  walked  away. 
The  next  Sunday,  however,  he  preached  a  sermon  on  the 
subject  in  the  court-house,  and  attacked  the  town's  reli- 
gion  with  so  much  vigor  that  the  excitement  was  very 
intense. 

Most  of  the  citizens  of  Twin  Mounds  came  from  the 
surrounding  country,  and  a  favorite  way  of  increasing  the 
population  was  to  elect  the  county  officers  from  the  coun 
try,  but  after  their  terms  expired  a  new  set  moved  in,  for 
it  was  thought  they  became  so  corrupt  by  a  two  years' 
residence  that  they  could  not  be  trusted  to  a  re-election. 
The  town  increased  in  size  a  little  in  this  manner,  for  none 
of  these  men  ever  went  back  to  their  farms  again,  though 
they  speedily  lost  standing  after  they  retired  from  their 
positions.  Many  others  who  left  their  farms  to  move  to 
the  town  said  in  excuse  that  the  school  advantages  were 
better,  and  seemed  very  anxious  for  a  tune  that  their 
children  should  be  educated,  but  once  they  were  established 
in  Twin  Mounds  they  abused  the  school  a  great  deal,  and 
§aid  it  was  not  satisfactory,  and  allowed  their  children  U 
remain  away  if  they  were  so  inclined. 


168  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

Tkere  was  the  usual  number  of  merchants,  profession* 
men,  mechanics,  etc.,  who  got  along  well  enough,  but  1 
never  knew  how  at  least  one  half  the  inhabitants  lived. 
Some  of  them  owned  teams,  and  farmed  in  the  immediate 
vicinity ;  others  "  hauled,"  and  others  did  whatever  offered, 
but  they  were  all  poor,  and  were  constantly  changing  from 
one  house  to  another.  These  men  usually  had  great  fami 
lies  of  boys,  who  grew  up  in  the  same  indifferent  fashion, 
and  drifted  off  in  time  nobody  knew  where,  coming  back 
occasionally,  after  a  long  absence,  well-dressed,  and  with 
money  to  rattle  in  their  pockets.  But  none  of  them  ever 
came  back  who  had  business  of  sufficient  importance  else 
where  to  call  them  away  again,  for  they  usually  remained 
until  their  good  clothes  wore  out,  the  delusion  of  their 
respectability  was  broken,  and  they  became  town  loafers 
again,  or  engaged  in  the  hard  pursuits  of  their  fathers. 
The  only  resident  of  Twin  Mounds  who  ever  distinguished 
himself  ran  away  with  a  circus  and 'never  came  back,  for 
although  he  was  never  heard  of  it  was  generally  believed 
that  he  must  have  become  famous  in  some  way  to  induce 
him  to  forego  the  pleasure  of  returning  home  in  good 
clothes,  and  swaggering  up  and  down  the  street  to  allow 
the  people  to  shake  his  hand. 

This  class  of  men  never  paid  their  debts,  and  to  get 
ci  edit  for  an  amount  was  equal  to  earning  it,  to  their  way 
of  thinking,  and  a  new  merchant  who  came  in  did  a  great 
business  until  he  found  them  out.  I  have  said  they  never 
paid;  they  did  sometimes,  but  if  they  paid  a  dollar  on 
account  they  bought  three  or  four  times  that  amount  to  go 
on  the  books. 

They  always  seemed  to  me  to  be  boys  yet,  surprised  at 
being  their  own  masters,  and  only  worked  when  they  had 
tJ,  as  boys  do.  They  engaged  in  boys'  amusements,  too 
few  most  of  them  owned  packs  of  dogs,  and  short-di«tanc« 


HTLLBD    BY    FETE    1ND1AJSB.  160 


raneb  'jrses,  and  n.  was  one  of  their  greatest 
iiieutB  ou  drivt  a  quarter-horse  to  a  vvoo<1  wagon  to 
out-of-the-way  neighborhood,  match  it  against  a  farmer's 
horse  threatened  with  speed,  and  come  back  with  all  the 
money  owned  in  that  direction.  I  suppose  they  came  West 
to  grow  up  with  the  country,  like  the  rest  of  us,  but  they 
were  idle  where  they  came  from,  and  did  not  improve  in 
the  West,  because  work  was  necessary,  whereupon  the 
thought  no  doubt  occurred  to  them  that  they  could  have 
grown  rich  in  that  way  anywhere. 

A  few  of  them  were  away  most  of  the  time  —  I  never 
knew  where,  but  so  far  away  that  they  seldom  came  home 
—  and  their  families  supported  themselves  as  best  they 
could,  but  were  always  expecting  the  husbands  and  fathers 
to  return  and  take  them  away  to  homes  of  luxury.  Occa 
sionally  news  came  that  they  were  killed  by  Indians,  and 
occasionally  this  was  contradicted  by  the  certainty  that 
they  were  locked  up  for  disreputable  transactions,  or 
hanged.  Whenever  a  Twin  Mounds  man  died  away  from 
home  otherwise  than  honorably,  it  was  always  said  that 
he  had  been  killed  by  the  Indians. 

All  of  this,  and  much  more,  I  learned  during  the  first 
three  years  of  my  residence  there,  which  were  generally 
uneventful  and  without  incident,  save  that  on  rare  occa 
sions  I  was  permitted  to  visit  Jo  and  Agnes  at  Fairview, 
who  made  so  much  of  me  that  I  dreaded  to  come  away. 
I  had  long  since  displaced  Adams,  and  Jo  was  out  of  his 
time  at  the  mill,  and  for  more  than  a  year  had  been 
receiving  wages  enabling  him  to  save  considerable  money, 
which  he  invested  in  his  enterprise  at  the  Ford  with  a 
steadfastness  for  which  I,  his  best  friend,  did  not  give  him 
credit.  He  was  engaged  now  to  be  married  to  Mateel 
Shepherd,  and  he  worked  and  studied  to  make  himself 
rorthy  of  her.  Barker  had  been  known  to  confess  that 


170  THE  STOBY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

Jo  was  the  better  miller  of  the  two  —  I  believe  he  really 
was  —  and  when  he  came  to  town  he  spent  more  of  hii 
time  in  examining  the  machinery  in  the  mills  on  the  river 
than  in  visiting  me,  and  it  was  plain  that  the  old-fashioned 
establishment  on  Bull  River  would  not  satisfy  him  when 
he  began  the  building  of  his  own. 

Dad  Erring's  hands  had  improved  somewhat  during  the 
three  years,  and  the  great  piles  of  framed  timbers  lying 
at  the  ford  now  were  his  work,  but  Jo  had  paid  him  from 
his  earnings  as  much  as  he  would  take.  These  were  hauled 
from  the  woods,  where  they  were  fashioned  by  Jo  himself 
on  odd  occasions,  with  ox  teams  and  low  wagons,  assisted 
by  the  cheap  labor  which  abounded  in  winter. 

While  the  creek  was  low,  he  had  laid  a  broad  founda 
tion  for  his  dam,  with  stones  so  large  that  a  great  many 
men  were  necessary  to  handle  them,  which  were  sunk  into 
*he  creek,  and  the  succeeding  layers  fastened  to  them 
by  a  process  he  had  invented.  I  think  he  worked  there  a 
little  every  week  during  the  three  years,  assisted  by  young 
men  he  hired  for  almost  nothing,  and  there  was  system 
and  order  in  everything  he  did.  Occasionally  it  happened 
that  the  water  at  Barker's  was  too  high  or  too  low  to  run 
the  mill,  when  he  worked  on  his  own  enterprise  from  day 
light  until  dark,  living  at  his  f  ither's  house.  Barker  often 
gave  him  the  half  of  one  day,  and  all  of  the  next,  when 
trade  was  dull,  and  these  opportunities  he  improved  to  the 
very  best  advantage ;  every  time  I  went  to  Fairview  I  vis 
ited  the  mill,  and  it  was  always  growing. 

Jo  made  a  good  deal  of  money  every  month  by  running 
extra  time,  which  opportunity  Barker  delighted  to  give 
him,  and  often  after  he  had  worked  all  night  or  all  day  he 
would  commence  again  and  work  half  of  his  employer'* 
time,  studying  his  books  when  everything  was  running 
woothly. 


THE  MYSTERY  OP  THE  BOXES.  171 

His  ambition  had  become  noised  about,  and  partly  be^ 
rause  a  mill  was  needed  in  that  part  of  the  country,  and 
partly  because  the  people  had  lately  grown  to  admire  Jo, 
they  proposed  to  raise  him  a  certain  sum  of  money  to  be 
returned  at  any  tune  within  five  years  after  the  mift  should 
commence  running.  My  recollection  is  that  the  amount 
was  three  or  four  hundred  dollars,  and  I  have  always  be* 
lieved  that  Damon  Barker  paid  Lytle  Biggs  out  of  his  own 
pocket  to  solicit  subscriptions  to  the  fund,  for  he  seemed 
to  have  something  to  do  with  it. 

During  this  time  I  had  mastered  the  mystery  of  the  boxes 
go  well  that  I  wondered  how  it  was  possible  I  had  puzzled 
my  brain  over  them,  they  seemed  so  simple  and  easy,  and 
if  I  improved  the  time  well,  I  am  sure  it  was  due  to  the 
kindly  encouragement  and  help  of  Martin,  who  was  not 
only  a  very  clever  printer,  but  an  intelligent  man  besides. 
It  had  always  been  a  part  of  his  work,  I  believe,  to  write 
the  few  local  items  of  the  town,  and  he  taught  me  to  help 
him ;  making  me  do  it  my  way  first,  and  then,  after  he 
had  explained  the  errors,  I  wrote  them  all  over  again.  If 
I  employed  a  bad  sentence,  or  an  inappropriate  word,  he 
explained  his  objections  at  length,  and  I  am  certain  that 
had  I  been  less  dull  I  should  have  become  a  much  better 
writer  than  I  am,  for  he  was  very  competent  to  teach  me. 

My  father,  as  an  editor,  was  earnest  and  vigorous,  and 
the  subjects  of  which  he  wrote  required  columns  for  ex 
pression,  so  that  his  page  of  the  paper  was  always  full.  I 
spent  a  quite  recent  rainy  holiday  in  a  dusty  attic  looking 
OV^.T  an  old  file  of  the  "  Union  of  States  "  when  he  wa* 
its  editor,  and  was  surprised  at  the  ability  he  displayed 
The  simple  and  honest  manner  in  which  he  discussed  the 
questions  of  the  day  became  very  popular,  for  he  always 
Advocated  that  which  was  right,  and  there  was  alwayi 
more  presswork  to  do  every  week,  which  he  seemed  to  re- 


172  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTKJ   TOWN 

gard  as  an  imposition  on  Martin,  who  had  formerly  haci 
that  hard  part  of  the  work  to  perform,  and  on  the  plea  oi 
needing  exercise  he  early  began  to  run  the  press  himself, 
and  in  the  history  of  the  business  at  that  time  no  man  waa 
known  who  could  equal  him  in  the  rapid  and  steady  man' 
ner  in  which  he  went  about  it. 

Soon  after  my  introduction  into  the  office  I  had  learned 
to  ink  the  forms  so  acceptably  with  a  hand  roller  that  I 
was  forced  to  keep  at  it,  for  a  suitable  successor  could  not 
be  found,  but  at  last  we  found  a  young  man  who  had 
a  passion  for  art  (it  was  none  other  than  my  old  enemy, 
Shorty  Wilkinson;  I  fought  him  regularly  every  week 
during  the  first  year  of  my  residence  in  town,  but  we 
finally  agreed  to  become  friends),  and  after  that  Martin 
and  I  spent  a  portion  of  the  two  press  days  of  the  week 
in  adorning  our  page  with  paragraphs  of  local  happenings ; 
or  rather  in  rambling  through  the  town  hunting  for  them. 
Sometimes  we  invented  startling  things  at  night,  and  spent 
the  time  given  us  in  wandering  through  the  woods  like 
idle  boys,  bathing  and  fishing  in  the  streams  in  summer, 
and  visiting  the  sugar-camps  in  early  spring,  where  we 
heard  many  tales  of  adventure  which  afterwards  appeared 
in  print  under  great  headings. 

By  reason  of  the  fact  that  it  was  conducted  by  a  care 
ful  and  industrious  man,  and  the  great  number  of  law  ad 
vertisements  which  came  in  from  that  and  two  of  the  ad 
joining  counties,  the  "  Union  of  States  "  made  a  good  deal 
of  money,  and  certainly  it  was  improved  under  my  father's 
proprietorship.  Before  it  came  into  his  possession  it  was 
conducted  by  a  man  who  had  ideas,  but  not  talents,  beyond 
a  country  newspaper,  who  regarded  it  as  a  poor  field  in 
arhich  to  expect  either  reputation  or  money;  but  nay 
father  made  it  as  readable  as  he  could,  and  worked  ever) 
•lay  and  night  at  something  designed  to  improve  it. 


THE  GREAT  BOOK  KEPT  IN  HEAVEN.    178 

result  was  that  its  circulation  rapidly  extended,  and  the 
business  was  very  profitable. 

His  disposition  had  not  changed  with  his  residence,  ex 
cept  that  he  turned  me  over  entirely  to  Martin,  and  a 
room  had  been  fitted  up  in  the  building  where  the  paper  was 
princed  for  our  joint  occupancy,  where  we  spent  our  even 
bigs  as  we  saw  fit,  but  always  to  some  purpose,  for  the  con* 
fidence  reposed  in  Martin  was  deserved. 

From  my  mother,  who  was  more  lonely  than  ever  in  the 
stone  house  in  which  we  lived,  I  learned  occasionally 
that  the  Rev.  John  Westlock  still  read  and  thought  far 
into  every  night.  Into  the  room  in  which  he  slept  was 
brought  every  evening  the  dining-table,  and  sitting  before 
this,  spread  out  to  its  full  size,  he  read,  wrote,  or  thought 
until  he  went  to  bed,  which  was  always  at  a  late  hour. 

It  occurred  to  me  once  or  twice,  in  an  indifferent  sort 
of  way,  that  a  man  who  had  no  greater  affairs  than  a 
country  printing  ofiice,  and  a  large  amount  of  wild  land 
constantly  increasing  in  value,  had  reason  to  think  so 
much  as  he  did,  but  I  never  suspected  what  his  trouble 
was  until  it  was  revealed  to  me,  as  I  shall  presently  re 
late. 

When  I  rambled  through  the  town  at  night,  and  passed 
that  way,  if  I  looked  in  at  his  window,  which  was  on  the 
ground  floor,  he  was  oftener  thinking  than  reading  or 
writing,  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  with  a  scowl  on  his  face 
which  frightened  me.  Whether  the  procession  of  for 
bidden  pictures  was  still  passing  before  him,  and  the 
Sgures  accompanying  them  were  still  beckoning,  will 
never  be  known  until  the  Great  Book  of  Men's  Actions, 
toid  to  be  kept  in  Heaven,  is  opened,  and  I  hope  that  those 
who  are  permitted  to  look  at  the  writing  under  the  head 
of  John  Westlock  will  be  able  to  read,  through  the  meroj 
af  God :  "  Tempted  and  tried ;  but  forgiven." 


174  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN, 

Almost  every  Saturday  afternoon  he  drove  away  inti 
the  country  without  explanation,  and  did  not  return  until 
Sunday  night  or  early  Monday  morning.  Where  he  went 
we  never  knew,  but  we  supposed  he  had  gone  to  preach 
in  some  of  the  country  churches  or  school-houses,  for  per 
sons  who  came  into  the  office  through  the  week  spoke  in 
a  way  which  led  us  to  believe  that  such  was  the  case, 
although  he  was  not  often  at  Fail-view,  Jo  told  me,  but 
ne  heard  of  him  frequently  in  the  adjoining  neighbor, 
hoods. 

During  the  latter  part  of  the  second  year  of  our  resi 
dence  in  Twin  Mounds,  my  father  came  home  one  Mon 
day  morning  in  an  unusually  bad  humor,  and  though  he 
went  away  occasionally  after  that,  it  was  usually  late  in 
the  evening,  and  I  came  to  understand  somehow  that  he 
did  not  preach  any  more,  the  result  of  some  sort  of  a  mis 
understanding.  Even  had  I  been  anxious  to  know  the 
particulars,  there  was  no  one  to  inform  me,  as  no  one 
seemed  to  know,  and  in  a  little  while  I  ceased  to  think 
about  it  entirely,  for  he  at  once  gave  me  more  to  do  by 
teaching  me  the  details  of  the  business.  The  men  who 
came  to  the  office  to  see  him  after  that  annoyed  him,  and 
made  him  more  irritable,  therefore  he  taught  me  the 
routine  of  his  affairs,  that  I  might  relieve  him  of  them. 
We  all  usually  worked  together,  but  after  this  he  took 
whatever  he  had  to  do  into  the  room  where  Martin  had 
his  bed,  and  when  the  people  came  in  I  was  expected  to 
attend  to  them.  From  my  going  into  the  bedroom  to 
ask  him  questions  about  his  land  business,  which  I  did 
not  so  well  understand,  it  came  to  be  believed  that  he  was 
'failing  in  health,  and  his  old  friends  frequently  expressed 
the  hope  that  he  would  soon  be  better.  If  I  had  trouble 
in  settling  with  any  one,  he  came  out  impatiently,  and 
acted  as  if  he  would  like  to  pitch  the  man  into  the  street^ 


SHADOWS.  176 

for  his  affairs  were  always  straight  and  honest,  and  there 
WSM  no  occasion  fc  r  trouble.  Frequently  he  would  pro 
pose  to  work  in  my  place  if  I  would  go  out  in  town,  and 
lolicit  business,  and  when  there  were  bills  to  collect,  I 
was  put  about  it,  so  that  for  weeks  at  a  time  he  did  not 
Bre  any  one,  and  trusted  almost  everything  to  me. 

When  my  father  was  away,  I  was  expected  to  stay  at 
home,  and  I  could  not  help  noticing  that  my  mother  wag 
growing  paler  and  weaker,  and  that  the  old  trouble  of 
which  she  had  spoken  to  Jo  was  no  better.  The  house  in 
which  we  lived  was  built  of  square  blocks  of  stone,  and 
the  walls  were  so  thick,  and  the  windows  so  small,  that  I 
used  to  think  of  her  as  a  prisoner  shut  up  in  it.  The 
upper  part  was  not  used,  except  when  I  went  there  to 
sleep,  and  it  was  such  a  dismal  and  lonely  place  that  I 
was^often  awakened  in  the  night  with  bad  dreams,  but  I 
always  had  company,  for  I  found  her  sleeping  on  a  pallet 
by  the  side  of  my  bed,  as  though  she  was  glad  to  be  near 
me.  I  never  heard  her  come,  or  go  away,  but  if  I  awoke 
in  the  night  I  was  sure  to  find  her  by  my  side. 

"  There  is  a  great  change  in  you,  Ned,"  she  said  to  me 
we  evening  when  I  had  gone  to  stay  with  her,  "  since 
x>ming  to  town." 

I  replied  that  I  was  glad  to  hear  her  say  so,  as  I  waf 
\ery  ignorant  when  I  went  into  the  office  to  work. 

"  The  rest  of  us  are  unchanged,"  she  said.  "  We  are 
DO  happier  here  than  in  Fairview ;  just  the  same,  I 
think." 

It  was  the  only  reference  she  had  ever  made  to  the  «ub- 
ject  to  me,  and  I  did  not  press  it,  for  I  feared  she  would 
break  down  and  confess  the  sonow  which  filled  her  life. 
A.  great  many  times  afterwards  I  could  have  led  her  up 
to  talk  about  it,  fully  and  freely,  I  think,  but  I  dreaded 
to  hear  from  her  own  lips  how  unhappy  she  really  was. 


176  THE  STOKY  OF  A  COUNTRY 

Had  I  those  days  to  live  over  —  how  often  are  those 
words  said  and  written,  as  though  there  is  a  consciousnesi 
with  every  man  of  having  been  unwise  as  well  as  unhappy 
in  his  youth  —  I  would  pursue  a  different  course,  but  it 
never  occurred  to  me  then  that  I  could  be  of  more  use  to 
her  than  I  was,  or  that  I  could  in  any  way  lessen  her  sor 
row.  She  never  regretted  that  I  no  longer  slept  in  the 
house,  nor  that  I  was  growing  as  cold  toward  her  as  my 
father,  which  must  have  been  the  case,  so  I  never  knew 
that  she  cared  much  about  it.  Indeed,  I  interpreted  her 
unhappiness  as  indifference  toward  me,  and  it  had  been 
that  way  since  I  could  remember.  Had  she  put  her  arms 
around  me,  and  asked  me  to  love  her  because  no  one  eke 
did,  I  am  sure  I  should  have  been  devoted  to  her,  but  her 
quietness  convinced  me  that  she  was  so  troubled  in  other 
ways  that  there  was  no  tune  to  think  of  me,  and  while  I 
believe  I  was  always  kind  and  thoughtful  of  her,  I  few  I 
WM  never  affectieaate. 


CBAPTER  XVH. 

THE  FELLOW. 

A  LTHOUGH  I  met  him  almost  every  day,  I  nerei 
X-*-  cared  to  renew  my  acquaintance  with  Clinton  Bragg, 
The  dislike  was  evidently  mutual,  for  while  he  never  came 
in  my  way,  I  knew  he  made  fun  of  me,  as  he  did  of  every 
one  else,  and  I  believe  he  had  an  ill  word  for  whatever  1 
did  or  attempted. 

Although  it  was  said  that  he  drank  more  than  was  good 
for  him,  he  did  not  have  the  appearance  of  a  drunkard, 
and  it  seemed  to  me  that  when  he  was  drinking,  he  was 
anxious  that  everybody  know  it,  and  that  he  drank  more 
because  it  was  contemptible  and  depraved  than  because 
he  had  an  appetite.  A  few  of  the  sentimental  people  said 
that  were  it  not  for  his  dissipating,  he  could  greatly  dis 
tinguish  himself,  and  that  he  was  very  talented ;  therefore 
I  think  he  drank  as  an  apology  for  his  worthlessness, 
knowing  he  could  never  accomplish  what  the  people  said 
he  could  if  he  remained  sober.  He  probably  argued  that 
if  he  kept  his  breath  smelling  with  liquor,  he  would  only 
have  to  answer  to  the  public  for  that  one  fault  (receiving 
at  the  same  time  a  large  amount  of  sympathy,  which  a 
better  man  would  have  rejected),  whereas  if  he  kept 
lober  he  would  be  compelled  to  answer  to  the  charge  of 
being  an  insolent  loafer,  and  a  worthless  vagabond. 

From  a  long  experience  with  it,  I  have  come  to  believe 
that  the  question  of  intemperance  has  never  been  treated 
the  intelligence  which  has  distinguished  this  country 

177 


178  THE  STOKY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

in  most  other  particulars.  We  pet  drunkards  too  much, 
and  a  halo  of  sentimentality  surrounds  them,  instead  of 
the  disgust  and  contempt  they  deserve.  If  a  man  is  t 
noted  liar,  or  a  noted  vagrant,  society  allows  him  to  find 
his  proper  level,  and  reform  himself  (since  no  one  else  can 
do  it  for  him),  but  if  he  drinks  too  much,  great  numbers  of 
men  and  women  who  are  perhaps  temperate  in  nothing 
except  that  they  do  not  drink,  attempt  to  reform  hint 
with,  kindness,  although  that  method  prevails  in  nothing 
else.  As  a  reason  why  he  should  not  dissipate,  he  is  told 
what  distinguished  positions  he  could  occupy  but  for  the 
habit,  and  while  this  is  well-intended,  the  facts  generally 
are  that  the  fellow  is  entirely  worthless  whether  drunk  or 
sober.  The  young  man  who  practises  temperance  in  the 
whiskey  and  other  particulars  because  it  is  necessary  in  his 
ambition  to  be  of  use  to  himself  and  to  those  around  him, 
is  entirely  neglected  that  the  disgusting  pigs  who  swill 
that  which  is  ruinous  to  health,  mind,  and  pocket  may  be 
"  encouraged,"  and  who  perhaps  only  drink  for  the  poor 
kind  of  attention  it  insures  them,  and  from  being  told 
of  it  so  often,  they  come  to  believe  themselves  that  but 
for  their  dissipation  they  would  be  wonderful  fellows,  so 
it  often  happens  that  their  egotism  is  even  more  detest- 
able  than  their  maudlin  drunkenness.  Many  young  men 
are  thus  led  into  the  false  notion  that  great  brains  feed  on 
stimulants,  and  regard  an  appetite  as  intellectual. 

The  same  mistaken  people  also  talk  too  much  about  the 
allurements  and  pleasures  of  drink ;  of  the  gilded  palaces 
where  drink  is  sold,  and  of  its  pleasing  effects,  causing 
jroung  men  and  boys  who  would  otherwise  never  nave 
thought  of  it  to  be  seized  with  an  uncontrollable  desire 
x>  try  the  experiment  for  themselves,  although  there  ij 
nothing  more  certain  than  that  all  of  this  is  untrue, 
They  visit  these  places,  to  begin  with,  because  they  bav« 


/ 


TEMPEBANCE  LECTTJBB.  179 


been  warned  so  frequently  against  them,  and  before  they 
find  out  —  which  they  are  certain  to,  sooner  or  later  —  that 
whiskey  is  man's  enemy  in  every  particular,  and  his  friend 
in  nothing ;  that  the  "  gilded  palaces  "  in  which  it  is  sold 
are  low  dens  kept  by  men  whose  company  is  not  desirable ; 
that  the  reputed  pleasure  in  the  cup  is  a  myth ;  and  that 
drinking  is  an  evidence  of  depravity  as  plainly  marked  as 
idleness  and  viciousness, — they  form  the  habit,  and  become 
saloon  loafers.  I  firmly  believe  that  hundreds  of  young 
men  become  drunkards  by  misrepresentation  of  this  sort, 
whereas  the  truth  is  easier  told,  and  would  prove  more 
effective  in  keeping  them  away. 

'.  The  first  step  in  a  career  of  dissipation  is  not  the  first 
glass,  as  is  sometimes  asserted,  but  a  cultivation  of  saloon 
society.  There  is  nothing  to  do  in  a  place  where  drink  is 
sold,  no  other  amusement  or  excuse  for  being  there,  than 
to  drink,  gamble  and  gossip,  and  when  a  man  learns  tc 
relish  the  undesirable  company  common  to  such  places, 
the  liquor  habit  follows  as  a  matter  of  course,  but  not 
before.  It  is  an  effort  for  most  men  to  drink  whiskey, 
even  after  they  have  become  accustomed  to  its  use ;  it  is 
naturally  disgusting  to  every  good  quality,  and  every 
good  thought ;  it  jars  every  healthy  nerve  as  it  is  poured 
down  the  throat ;  it  looks  hot  and  devilish  in  the  bottle, 
and  gurgles  like  a  demon's  laugh  while  it  is  being  poured 
out,  and  until  the  young  men  of  the  country  are  taught 
that  drinking  is  low  and  vicious  rather  than  intellectual, 
we  cannot  hope  for  a  reform  in  this  grave  matter,  ^tf^ 

I  believe  that  familiarity  with  it  breeds  contempt,  for  I 
hare  noticed  that  very  few  drunkard's  sons  follow  in  the 
footsteps  of  their  fathers,  and  the  men  who  sell  it  seldom 
drink  it.  Most  drunkards  are  such  notorious  liarg  that 
little  can  be  told  from  their  confessions,  but  if  accurate 
itatistics  could  be  collected,  it  would  no  doubt  turn  out 


180  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

that  most  men  having  the  habit  formed  it  because  thej 
were  particularly  warned  against  it.  To  say  to  a  man  that 
he  shall  not  drink  creates  within  him  a  strong  desire  to 
drink  to  excess,  and  prohibitory  laws  generally  increase 
rather  than  decrease  the  consumption  of  liquor,  because 
of  this  strange  peculiarity.  We  regulate  other  evils,  and 
admit  they  cannot  be  blotted  out,  but  with  strange  incon 
sistency  we  insist  that  liquor  of  every  kind  mast  be  driven 
from  the  face  of  the  earth ;  that  to  regulate  such  a  horri 
ble  evil  is  a  compromise  with  the  Devil,  and  that  efforts 
for  its  extermination  only  are  worthy  of  temperate  men 
and  women. 

The  most  convincing  argument  for  reform  in  any  par 
ticular  is  necessity.  When  a  man  says  to  himself,  "I 
must  quit  this  habit  or  starve,"  or  "  I  can  never  obtain  a 
position  of  trust  in  business,  or  a  place  of  respectability 
in  society,  until  I  convince  the  people  of  my  intelligence 
and  manhood  by  reforming  a  habit  which  is  the  most  con 
temptible  as  well  as  injurious  of  all  other  habits,"  he  is  on 
the  right  road,  and  will  in  time  accomplish  a  victory  over 
himself,  and  the  best  thing  society  can  do  for  him  —  how 
ever  heartless  it  may  seem  —  is  to  let  him  alone  during 
his  reformation,  only  visiting  upon  him  its  severe  con 
tempt  when  he  falls,  for  if  the  fall  is  hard  and  disagree 
able,  he  will  be  more  careful  the  next  time.  When  a  man 
disgraces  himself  in  any  other  way,  we  insist  that  he 
must  be  humiliated,  as  sending  him  to  jail  for  petty 
larceny,  or  to  public  work  for  vagrancy;  but  when  he 
becomes  a  disgusting,  beastly  drunkard,  we  tell  him  in 
confidence  that  he  is  not  to  blame,  and  that  his  enemies 
the  saloon-keepers  are  responsible.  The  man  who  selli 
the  pistol  or  the  poison  is  not  to  blame  for  the  suicide,  nor 
is  the  man  who  sells  the  whiskey  to  blame  for  the  drunkard 

It  is  no  more  remarkable  that  men  drink  too  much  thaj 


GLUTTONY   AND  KLEPTOMANIA.  181 

*hat  men  eat  too  much,  and  die,  before  th3ir  lime,  of 
dyspepsia.  The  one  we  regard  as  a  glutton,  and  despise 
him  that  he  does  not  use  the  knowledge  God  has  given 
him  to  better  advantage,  but  the  other  is  fondled  and 
pitied  until  he  is  made  to  feel  almost  comfortable  in  his 
disgrace.  The  result  is  that  men  are  oftener  cured  of 
excessive  eating  than  of  excessive  drinking.  We  never 
think  of  punishing  the  grocer  for  selling  unhealthy  but 
palatable  food,  but  we  are  very  severe  on  the  men  who 
sell  palatable  but  demoralizing  drink.  Men  have  fre 
quently  been  cured  of  kleptomania  by  a  term  in  jail,  and 
of  lying  and  loafing  by  the  contempt  of  the  people  among 
whom  they  live,  and  the  same  rule  applied  to  drunkards 
would  be  equally  satisfactory  in  its  results. 

Because  temperance  is  right,  too  many  insist  that  it 
must  prevail,  although  the  experience  of  ages  proves  that 
it  never  was,  and  never  will  become  a  common  virtue. 
We  might  reason  with  equal  goodness  of  heart  that  be 
cause  children  are  pretty  and  healthy,  they  should  never 
be  stricken  down  with  disease,  and  die,  although  our 
sorrowing  hearts  tell  us  that  the  reverse  is  the  rule. 

In  everything  else  we  profit  from  experience,  but  we 
seem  to  have  learned  nothing  from  the  past  in  dealing 
with  intemperance.  The  methods  used  for  its  suppression 
now  are  exactly  the  same  as  were  used  hundreds  of  years 
ago,  although  we  know  them  to  be  ineffective.  As  a 
sensible  people,  as  a  people  desiring  the  good  of  the  un 
fortunate,  we  cannot  afford  to  practise  methods  which  we 
know  beforehand  will  be  of  no  avail.  Intemperance  is 
growing  too  rapidly  to  admit  of  an  unsatisfactory  pre 
tence  that  we  have  discharged  our  duty,  and  while  ihfi 
theory  advanced  by  the  writer  of  this  may  not  be  the 
best  one,  it  is  certain  that  the  one  generally  adopted  is 
wrong,  for  the  people  are  disheartened  and  discouraged 


182  TELE  STORY   OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

because  with  all  their  work   they  have    aocompbi  bed 
nothing. 

Clinton  Bragg  was  this  sort  of  a  drunkard,  and  di-ank 
whiskey  for  no  other  reason  than  that  everybody  said  it 
wasn't  good  for  him.  It  was  known  that  he  alwayi 
drank  large  quantities  of  water  after  using  his  bottle,  ag 
if  the  liquor  had  set  fire  to  his  throat,  and  the  water  waff 
intended  to  put  it  out.  While  I  never  knew  him  to  be 
helplessly  intoxicated,  he  was  frequently  under  the  in 
fluence  of  his  bottle,  or  pretended  to  be,  although  I  have 
seen  him  sober  very  suddenly,  and  I  always  thought  he 
was  dissatisfied  that  the  people  did  not  talk  more  abouf. 
his  dissipation,  as  they  did  of  Fin  Wilkinson's,  the  town 
drunkard,  who  was  often  on  the  streets  in  danger  of  being 
run  over  by  wagons. 

Every  two  or  three  months  he  received  an  allowance  of 
money  from  his  father,  which  he  expended  selfishly  but 
lavishly  as  long  as  it  lasted,  but  for  a  few  weeks  before 
his  money  came,  and  while  he  was  without  it,  he  was  a 
more  decent  fellow,  and  it  occurred  to  me  that  had  he 
been  compelled  to  make  his  own  way  in  the  world, 
he  might  in  tune  have  developed  into  a  respectable  man. 
But  as  it  was  he  had  no  friends,  and  spent  the  mornings 
}f  his  days  in  sleeping,  and  his  nights  in  aimless  excur 
sions  over  the  country,  riding  a  horse  as  mean  and  vicious 
as  himself.  A  decent  man  would  not  have  owned  the 
animal,  for  he  had  a  reputation  for  biting  and  kicking, 
but  Bragg  lavished  upon  him  the  greatest  attention,  and 
aras  delighted  to  hear  occasionally  that  he  had  injured  a 
stable  boy.  It  was  a  pleasure  to  Bragg  to  know  that  his 
horse  laid  back  his  ears  in  anger  at  the  approach  of  any 
one,  in  the  street  or  on  the  road,  and  his  master  teased 
him  for  hours  to  cultivate  his  devilish  disposition. 

he  went  on  these  excursions  nobodv  ever  knew 


THJfi  FELLOW.  189 

except  that  I  knew  he  frequently  rode  by  Barker's  mill, 
as  if  on  his  way  to  the  Shepherds,  galloping  back  the 
game  way  at  a  late  hour,  to  create  the  impression  that  he 
was  so  popular  there  that  he  only  got  away  with  difficulty, 
though  I  believe  he  usually  rode  aimlessly  about  to  be 
different  from  other  men,  for  while  he  often  rode  tkat 
way,  it  was  only  on  rare  occasions  that  he  went  to  th« 
house  of  the  minister. 

Bragg  was  educated,  and  when  he  talked  to  the  town 
people  at  all  it  was  to  point  out  their  ignorance,  which  he 
did  with  a  bitter  tongue.  If  he  was  seated  in  front  of 
the  usual  loitering  places  on  a  summer  evening,  which  he 
sometimes  did  because  there  was  nothing  else  to  do,  he 
made  everybody  uncomfortable  by  intently  watching  for 
opportunity  to  insolently  point  out  mistakes,  and  if  ho 
ever  read  or  studied  at  all  it  was  for  this  purpose.  Oc 
casionally  there  carne  to  the  town  a  traveller  who  was  his 
equal  in  information,  who  beat  him  in  argument  and 
threatened  to  whip  him  for  an  insolent  dog,  which 
afforded  the  people  much  satisfaction.  I  remember  a 
commercial  traveller  who  sold  the  merchants  nearly  all 
their  goods  because  he  once  threw  a  plate  of  soup  in 
Bragg's  face  at  the  hotel  table,  and  then,  leading  him  out 
into  the  yard  by  the  ear,  gave  him  a  sound  beating  ;  but 
I  do  not  remember  what  the  occasion  of  the  difficulty 
between  them  was,  though  it  was  probably  no  more  than 
his  ordinary  impudence. 

He  had  an  office  and  apartments  over  a  leather  store  a 
Cew  doors  above  the  place  where  I  worked,  in  front  of 
which  there  was  a  porch,  and  he  sat  out  upon  this,  when 
the  weather  was  pleasant,  for  hours  at  a  time,  smoking 
cigars,  and  spitting  spitefully  into  the  street.  The  only 
man  I  ever  knew  who  visited  his  rooms  was  the  leather 
dealer,  who  called  on  Bragg  once  everv  three  months  t€ 


\ 


184  THE  STOBY  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

collect  his  rent.  It  was  a  part  of  the  town  gossip  that 
this  man  said  the  rooms  were  splendidly  furnished,  but 
always  darkened  with  rich  and  heavy  curtains  at  the 
windows,  and  that  it  was  full  of  stuffed  snakes,  lizards, 
bats,  and  other  hideous  things  ;  that  his  match-safe  was  a 
human  skull,  and  that  a  grinning  skeleton  hung  against 
the  wall,  which  rattled  and  wildly  swung  its  arms  and 
legs  every  time  a  draft  or  a  visitor  came  in  at  the  door. 
It  was  also  related  that  by  means  of  ingenious  strings  he 
made  the  skeleton  shake  or  nod  its  head,  and  point  with 
its  arms,  and  I  have  imagined  that  when  he  was  in  his 
apartments  he  employed  himself  in  causing  the  figure  to 
nod  its  head  in  response  to  the  assertion  that  Clinton 
Bragg  was  a  fine  fellow,  or  shake  it  violently  when  asked 
if  Clinton  Bragg  was  a  worthless  dog,  as  the  people 
said. 

Occasionally  people  who  had  lines  to  run  knocked  at 
his  door  in  response  to  the  sign,  "  C.  BRAGG,  C.  Engineer," 
but  even  if  he  was  at  home  he  would  not  let  them  in,  for 
he  had  no  intention  of  walking  over  the  prairie  in  the  hot 
sun  when  he  put  out  the  sign.  I  never  knew  of  his  doing 
anything  in  his  line,  although  he  might  have  been  a  great 
deal  employed,  and  finally  no  one  applied  there  for  ad- 
mission  except  the  saddler  for  his  rent,  and  a  lame  negro 
who  swept  and  cleaned  his  apartments,  although  it  wai 
quite  generally  believed  that  the  Devil  railed  on  him 
every  :>ad  night. 


CHAPTER  XVHL 

THE  MILL  AT  BERING'S  FOIL). 

DURING  the  latter  part  of  a  certain  week  a  littfc 
more  than  three  years  after  we  removed  to  th€ 
town,  I  was  given  a  holiday,  and  determined  at  once  to 
Bpend  it  in  Fairview,  for  I  had  not  seen  Jo  in  a  great 
many  weeks,  nor  Agnes  in  as  many  months.  I  remember 
I  earned  it  by  working  at  night  by  the  light  of  candles 
for  a  long  while,  and  that  a  certain  carpenter's  son  read 
the  copy  while  I  set  the  type,  while  another  boy  kept  the 
night  bugs  away  with  a  fan.  It  was  a  part  of  the  con 
tract  with  my  father  that  for  the  extra  work  I  was  to 
have  the  use  of  his  horses  in  addition  to  the  vacation, 
both  of  which  I  fully  earned,  and  Martin  understood  the 
situation  so  well  that  he  said  if  I  did  not  get  back  until 
Monday  he  would  see  that  the  work  was  not  behind. 

I  started  very  early  in  the  morning,  and  the  road  led 
over  gentle  hills  and  through  light  woods  for  a  few  miles, 
when  the  great  prairie  began  which  ended  at  Erring's 
Ford.  It  was  a  very  pretty  country,  and  though  we  fre 
quently  referred  to  it  in  the  "  Union  of  States "  as  the 
garden  spot  of  the  world,  I  knew  it  was  not  necessarily 
true,  for  every  paper  coming  in  exchange  to  the  office 
said  exactly  the  same  thing  of  the  different  localities 
in  which  it  was  published.  But  it  pleased  the  people 
who  did  not  see  the  exchanges,  and  who  no  doubt  re 
garded  it  as  a  very  neat  compliment. 

It  looked  unusuUly  attractive  that  morning,  and  ui 

185 


166  THE  BTOEY  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

riding  slowly  along  I  admired  it  eo  much  that  I  did  not 
notice  the  approach  of  a  horseman,  who  was  riding  very 
rapidly,  and  going  in  the  same  direction.  When  he  cain« 
BO  close  that  the  noise  of  the  animal's  hoofs  atti  acted  my 
attention,  I  turned  and  saw  that  it  was  Lytle  Biggs,  who 
had  by  this  time  become  an  old  acquaintance,  for  he  fre 
quently  wrote  letters  to  the  paper  in  a  very  bad  hand, 
signed  «  Pro  Bono  Publico,"  "  Tax-Payer,"  "  Citizen,"  or 
"  Farmer,"  and  which  I  was  usually  compelled  to  put  in 
type.  He  was  a  very  sociable  feUow,  and  I  was  pleased 
with  the  prospect  of  his  company.  I  said  as  much,  to 
which  he  replied :  — 

"  If  you  have  no  objection,  I  will  tie  the  horse  behind, 
and  ride  with  you,  for  I  detest  riding  on  a  horse's  back. 
It  may  do  for  exercise,  as  you  swing  dumb-bells  on  the 
advice  of  a  physician,  but  I  am  surprised  I  did  not  have 
better  sense  than  to  attempt  it  with  a  serious  intention  of 
travelling." 

I  replied  that  I  should  be  delighted,  and  when  he  got 
down  I  could  not  help  wondering  how  he  ever  got  on,  he 
was  such  a  little  man,  and  the  horse  so  uncommonly  large. 
As  he  climbed  into  the  buggy,  and  took  a  seat  beside  me, 
I  noticed  he  was  as  faultlessly  dressed  as  ever,  and  that  he 
seemed  to  be  growing  shorter  and  thinner. 

"  You  are  going  to  Jo  Erring's,  of  course,"  he  said,  after 
teeing  that  the  horse  led  well.  "It  is  a  remarkable  coin 
cidence  —  so  am  I.  I  suppose  you  are  not  old  enough  to 
know  itj  but  it  only  happens  once  in  a  lifetime  that  when 
you  are  walking  a  long  road  —  or  riding  on  a  horse'i 
back,  which  I  think  is  worse  —  you  overtake  an  easy- 
riding  buggy  going  in  the  same  direction,  and  containing 
but  one  person,  although  you  meet  a  great  many  vehicle* 
going  the  other  way.  It  is  on  the  same  principle  that  il 
you  go  up  **Hirs  to  strike  a  light,  and  take  but  one  match, 


GOING  TO  BEE  jo.  1ST 

it  is  certain  to  go  out,  but  if  you  take  half  a  dozen,  the 
first  one  answers  every  purpose." 

His  good  spirits  were  rapidly  returning  by  reason  of 
release  from  the  hard-trotting  horse's  back,  and  after 
finishing  this  speech  he  occupied  himself  for  a  while  in 
brushing  the  dust  from  his  clothing  with  a  small  wisp  he 
took  from  his  pocket. 

"  I  am  on  my  way  to  see  Jo  Erring  with  reference  to 
the  mill,"  he  began  at  once.  "  I  have  charge  of  the  fund 
being  raised  to  help  him,  and  I  shall  be  able  to  report  that 
the  amount  is  subscribed.  I  am  acting  for  Damon  Barker, 
as  you  may,  or  may  not,  happen  to  know,  and  although 
our  friend  believes  the  Fairview  farmers  are  very  enthusi 
astic  to  help  him,  they  are  really  very  slow,  and  I  have 
had  some  difficulty  in  convincing  them  that  it  was  to 
their  interest.  I  shall  also  recommend  that  he  build  the 
mill  as  soon  as  possible.  There  is  no  reason  why  it  should 
drag  through  another  year,  and  that  is  the  promise  I  gave 
in  securing  these  papers." 

He  significantly  tapped  a  pocket-book,  almost  as  large 
as  himself,  in  an  outside  pocket,  and  which  no  doubt  con 
tained  the  obligations  to  pay  certain  sums  of  money  at  an 
agreed  date.  He  always  carried  this  book  in  a  conspicuous 
way,  and  handled  it  as  though  it  contained  great  sums  of 
money,  but  as  he  looked  through  it  for  something  I  saw 
there  was  nothing  in  it  except  the  obligations,  a  great 
nany  newspaper  scraps,  a  few  old  letters,  one  or  two 
postage  stamps,  and  a  piece  of  court  plaster. 

"  I  don't  mind  confessing  to  you,"  Mr.  Biggs  continued, 
with  delightful  candor,  "  that  I  flattered  them  into  it.  In 
case  you  do  not  become  disgusted  with  the  ignorance 
which  renders  such  a  thing  possible,  you  can  flatter  men 
into  anything.  When  I  go  into  a  new  neighborhood  to 
organize  an  Alliance,  I  get  the  prompt  assistance  of  even 


1 88  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

man  I  meet  by  telling  him  that  I  can't  hope  to  do  any 
thing  without  HIS  aid,  as  HE  has  the  popular  confidence 
and  the  people  will  follow  wherever  HE  leads.  *  You  ari 
a  man  of  intelligence,'  I  say.  *  You  can  readily  under 
stand  what  I  have  to  offer,  and  will  see  its  benefit  at 
once.  But  your  neighbors  are  slower,  and  I  will  not  at 
tempt  an  organization  here  without  your  assistance.'  That 
kind  of  argument  never  fails,  and  as  I  talk  to  all  of  them 
in  the  same  way,  there  is  a  great  deal  of  enthusiasm,  each 
one  imagining  that  the  others  went  into  it  on  his  recom 
mendation.  I  worked  up  the  mill  subscription  in  that 
way." 

I  doubt  if  this  statement  was  true,  for  the  people  origi 
nated  the  idea  themselves,  but  to  illustrate  a  great  truth 
Mr.  Biggs  did  not  hesitate  to  tell  a  great  lie. 

"  I  make  a  great  deal  of  money  in  organizing  Alliances, 
but  sometimes  I  think  of  going  out  of  the  business  be 
cause  I  meet  so  many  silly  men  that  it  disgusts  me,  and  I 
become  ashamed  of  my  sex.  But  I  suppose  every  busi 
ness  has  that  draw  back,  for  every  man  I  have  ever  talked 
with  was  of  the  opinion  that  his  business  developed  more 
silly  men,  more  contemptible  men,  and  more  mean  men 
than  any  other  calling,  and  I  am  forced  to  conclude  that 
these  qualities  are  so  common  that  they  are  met  with  every, 
where." 

When  he  spoke  of  retiring  from  the  business  of  organizing 
Alliances,  I  was  abou4  to  say  that  publishing  a  newspaper 
collected  about  all  the  objectionable  men  within  reach,  but 
from  what  he  said  afterwards  I  judged  the  observation 
would  not  be  well  received.  As  if  he  understood  that  I 
was  about  to  say  something,  which  he  did  not  allow,  he 
continued :  — 

"  I  was  about  to  say,  however,  when  you  interrupted  m« 
(1  had  Dot  spoken  at  all),  that  the  way  to  get  rich  ia  to  crc 


ONE  WA¥  TO  GET  HIGH.  189 

in  debt,  and  work  out,  therefore  I  shall  recommend  thai 
Jo  Erring  complete  his  mill  at  once.  No  matter  if  he  goes 
in  debt ;  he  has  health  and  can  pay  it.  The  people  of  the 
country  through  which  we  are  passing  believe  it  the  beet 
to  pay  as  you  go.  That  party  over  in  the  field,  for  in 
stance,  is  ploughing  his  corn  with  a  single  shovel  plough, 
whereas  there  are  dealers  in  town  who  would  readily  take 
his  note  for  a  cultivator  with  four  shovels  and  a  riding 
seat.  His  library  no  doubt  consists  of  a  book  warning  Kim 
against  counting  his  chickens  before  they  are  hatched  — 
as  pointless  a  suggestion  as  I  ever  heard  in  my  life,  by  the 
way  (for  why  do  we  set  eggs  if  not  to  bring  forth  chick 
ens)  —  but  it  is  regarded  as  fine  logic  here.  The  man  will 
die  some  of  these  days  with  his  single  shovel  plough,  his 
slab  house,  his  cow,  his  two  horses,  and  his  handful  of  land 
paid  for,  worth  altogether  from  three  to  seven  hundred 
dollars,  but  if  he  has  a  neighbor  who  sets  a  good  many 
hens  with  care,  AND  counts  the  number  of  chickens  they 
can  reasonably  be  expected  to  hatch,  he  will  attend  the 
funeral  in  a  carriage,  and  look  at  his  remains  through  gold- 
rimmed  spectacles." 

I  had  regarded  this  pay-as-you-go  principle  as  a  very 
good  one,  but  he  convinced  me  that  I  was  mistaken,  as 
usual,  for  I  could  never  dispute  his  philosophy  until  I  had 
thought  over  it  a  day  or  two,  when  its  sophistry  seemed 
quite  clear.  I  had  remarked  of  Mr.  Biggs  before  that  he 
seemed  to  understand  what  was  in  my  mind,  and  attack  it. 
I  was  thinking  that  the  man  he  was  talking  about  —  his 
name  was  Me  John,  and  a  looal  curiosity  because  his  voice 
was  uncertain,  and  jumped  from  a  high  falsetto  to  a  gut 
tural  bass  —  had  the  reputation  of  being  the  hardest  work 
ing  man  in  Fail  view,  when  my  companion  said :  — 

"  I  never  knew  a  man.  I  believe,  who  did  n't  boast  oc 
casionally  that  he  worked  harder  than  his  neighbor;  I 


190  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

wonder  it  never  occurs  to  them  that  it  is  to  their  dis 
credit,  unless  they  are  more  prosperous  than  any  ol 
those  around  them,  for  if  their  neighbors  work  less, 
and  succeed  as  well  or  better,  it  is  an  indication  that 
they  have  more  sense.  I  have  no  doubt  that  McJohn, 
as  he  spends  his  time  in  ploughing  a  field  which  could 
be  done  in  one-fourth  the  time  with  common  sense 
and  a  cultivator,  thinks  that  no  other  man's  Jot  is  as  hard 
as  his,  and  that  he  is  a  martyr  to  hard  work.  Before 
I  became  a  philosopher  —  when  I  was  a  fool,  in  short  —  I 
boasted  that  no  man  worked  as  hard  as  I  did,  but  now  I 
boast  that  no  man  works  so  little.  But  simply  because  a 
man  says  he  is  the  hardest-working  man  in  the  country,  it 
does  not  follow  that  it  is  true.  Every  traveller  who  crosses 
the  ocean  says  that  the  captain  (who  had  been  at  sea  con 
tinuously  for  thirty  years)  came  into  the  cabin  during  the 
*tonn,  and  said  it  was  the  worst  he  had  ever  experienced. 
I  have  no  doubt  the  captains  say  so  (there  is  no  reason 
i^hr  sea  captains  should  not  lie  as  well  as  other  men),  but 
only  to  impress  the  passengers  with  their  remarkable  skill 
in  managing  the  vessel  under  such  critical  circumstances. 
You  may  have  noticed  that  every  winter  is  the  coldest 
ever  known,  and  every  summer  the  hottest ;  the  people  seem 
to  expect  picnics  in  December  and  skating  in  July,  but 
Ihe  i Acts  are  that  it  is  always  cold  in  December  and  always 
warm  in  July." 

I  would  have  made  oath,  if  necessary,  that  I  had  heard 
Mr.  Biggs  many  a  time  complaining  of  the  excessively  hot 
4nd  cold  days,  and  declaring  that  there  was  never  before 
anything  like  it. 

"  The  people  here  learn  nothing  by  experience,"  he  pro 
ceeded.  "  Since  I  have  lived  in  the  West,  every  spring 
hag  been  made  gloomy  by  the  lamentations  of  the  farmers 
ihat  crops  were  ruined,  but  just  before  the  crops  weri 


PHILOSOPHY.  191 

p  —  aa  the  tooth  came  just  before  the  doctoi 
killdd  the  boy  —  the  rains  come,  and  the  crops  do  very 
well.  You  will  find  that  the  men  who  carry  the  fate  of 
the  country  around  on  their  shoulders  do  not  get  on  so 
well  as  the  country.  I  have  always  found  it  safe  to  trust 
the  country  to  take  care  of  itself,  for  the  country  usually 
docs  very  well." 

We  were  riding  on  the  high  prairie  now,  with  Fairview 
church  in  sight,  and  the  little  man  regarded  the  big  build 
ing  with  a  show  of  the  contempt  I  had  seen  him  exhibit 
on  looking  at  big  men. 

"  Although  the  fact  is  as  old  as  the  world  itself  "  —  Mr. 
Biggs  waved  his  hand  around  majestically  to  give  me  to 
understand  that  although  the  world  was  very  large,  and 
very  old,  he  was  perfectly  familiar  with  every  part  of  it  — 
"  it  does  not  seem  to  be  generally  known  that  the  weather 
is  governed  by  cycles.  To  illustrate :  It  was  very  rainy 
and  wet  two  years  ago ;  it  was  rainy  and  wet  last  year, 
jut  not  so  rainy  and  wet  as  the  year  before ;  there  has 
been  plenty  of  rain  this  summer,  but  not  so  much  as  dur 
ing  the  two  previous  years.  Next  year  will  be  so  dry  as 
to  excite  comment,  but  still  very  fair  for  crops ;  the  year 
after  that,  and  the  year  following,  there  will  probably  be 
a  partial  drouth,  but  the  seventh  year,  which  completes 
the  cycle,  will  be  a  general  and  complete  drouth.  The 
wii  ter  following  will  be  very  mild  or  very  severe,  but  in 
any  event  the  next  summer  will  be  extremely  wet  again, 
to  be  followed  by  the  seven  years  of  decreasing  rain  I 
have  mentioned,  and  the  drouth  the  seventh  year.  I  don\ 
know  how  it  is  in  the  ^ast ;  it  is  as  I  have  stated  in  the 
West.  It  would  seem  t^t  everybody  ought  to  be  famil- 
(ar  with  this  fact,  but  they  <*re  not.  Hard  times  and  good 
times  run  in  cycles  the  sami  way,  and  the  panic  and  the 
drouth  are  about  the  same  d  \ance  apart,  though  fortn 


THE  STOBY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

nately  they  never  come  together,  for,  strange  as  it 
seem,  the  panics  come  in  seasons  of  great  crop  prosperity, 
and  times  are  sometimes  very  good  when  crops  are  very 
bad.  It  is  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world  to  get  rich  after 
you  are  familiar  with  these  cycle  theories.  You  have  only 
to  invest  your  money  when  times  are  hard ;  when  every 
body  believes  the  country  is  down,  and  can  never  get  up 
again.  In  a  year  or  two,  however,  the  country  will  get 
up  and  shake  itself,  and  you  find  your  investments  doubled. 
It  is  the  simplest  thing  in  the  world,  and  I  am  surprised 
there  are  so  many  poor  men.  We  might  as  well  all  be 
rich  if  we  would  take  advantage  of  the  opportunities 
around  us." 

I  wondered  to  myself  why  Biggs  himself  was  so  poor, 
since  he  had  discovered  the  secret  of  riches,  and  thought 
some  of  putting  tke  question  to  him,  but  he  did  n't  give 
me  opportunity,  for  immediately  he  went  on  to  ex 
plain  :  — 

"  When  I  came  to  the  country  I  was  foolish  enough  to 
buy  land  because  everybody  else  was  buying,  and  paid  too 
much.  I  warn  you  against  this  mistake  —  never  buy  any 
thing  when  there  is  a  brisk  demand  for  it,  for  the  price 
will  inevitably  be  too  high,  but  buy  when  no  one  else  is 
buying,  and  SELL  when  there  is  a  disposition  on  the  part 
of  everybody  else  to  buy.  I  bought  when  I  should  have 
sold,  in  other  words,  for  I  was  not  then  a  philosopher. 
Result :  The  tract  is  worth  no  more  to-day  than  what  I 
paid  for  it.  Since  then  I  have  never  had  money  enough 
at  one  time  to  take  advantage  of  my  knowledge,  and  am 
•till  poor.  Agnes  says  the  principal  objection  to  you  is 
that  you  are  young,  but  I  tell  her  that  you  will  outgrow 
it,  therefore  I  hope  you  will  make  use  of  this  important 
roggestion.  Avoid  the  mistakes  of  others;  let  youl 
neighbors  try  the  doubtful  experiments,  and  benefit  b^ 


THE  MTLL  AT  THE  FOED  198 

the  result.  A  great  many  men  are  only  of  use  to  teach 
others  by  their  failures,  but  never  repeat  their  mistakes." 

By  this  time  we  had  arrived  at  the  Ford,  and,  as  I  had 
hoped,  Jo  was  at  work  at  his  mill,  aided  by  a  half  dozen 
stout  young  men  of  the  neighborhood.  Since  I  had  visited 
the  place  last  Jo  had  completed  the  dam  and  the  founda 
tion,  and  the  timbers  were  being  raised.  Several  wero 
already  up,  and  held  by  long  ropes  until  the  others  could 
be  put  in  position  and  fastened.  I  noticed  that  Jo  was 
helping  in  everything,  and  directing  with  the  judgment 
and  good  sense  of  a  man  of  twice  his  years.  His  father 
was  also  assisting,  and  it  seemed  important  that  all  the 
frames  be  put  up  before  night,  for  they  were  very  busy. 
Jo  gayly  waved  his  hand  to  me  from  the  high  place  to 
which  he  had  climbed  to  pin  a  timber,  and  after  he  had 
come  down  again  he  shook  hands  with  me  in  his  old 
hearty  way,  and  said  he  hoped  I  would  understand  it  was 
not  neglect  if  he  kept  at  his  work,  for  he  had  determined 
to  push  the  mill  to  completion  as  speedily  as  possible,  as 
it  was  necessary  to  prevent  the  building  of  another  one 
further  up  the  stream. 

During  the  forenoon  I  learned  from  Gran  Erring,  from 
Biggs,  and  from  Jo  himself,  that  my  father  had  given  Jo 
the  money  promised,  two  or  three  hundred  dollars ;  that 
Barker  had  loaned  him  a  small  amount,  and  that  with  the 
gum  he  had  saved  this  was  deemed  sufficient  to  complete 
the  building  ready  for  the  machinery,  which  was  to  be 
purchased  with  the  money  raised  in  the  neighborhood,  and 
,%  mortgage  on  the  completed  mill ;  that  Jo  had  quit  at 
Barker's,  though  he  was  there  occasionally,  and  helped 
when  be  could ;  that  he  was  to  be  married  to  Mateel  the 
day  before  Christmas,  and  that  the  mill  must  be  in  opera 
tion  for  the  fall  business;  that  he  had  written  for  the 
machinery,  detailing  the  terms  on  which  he  wanted  it,  and 


194  THE  STORY  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

that  it  would  be  shipped  at  once ;  that  a  deed  to  the  little 
farm  had  been  delivered  to  him  in  consideration  of  cert  ain 
payments  in  money,  and  promises  to  pay  certain  amounts 
annually  during  the  lifetime  of  his  father  and  mother,  and 
that  after  the  mill  was  completed  they  would  move  to  a 
country  below  Fairview,  a  step  they  had  long  contem 
plated,  as  they  had  relatives  there,  leaving  the  house  of 
hewn  Ifcgs  to  be  fixed  over  for  the  occupancy  of  Jo  and 
Mateel ;  that  Jo  now  slept  at  home,  hi  the  middle  bed, 
and  that  he  expected  to  be  so  busy  the  next  few  months 
that  he  had  written  Mateel  a  note  saying  that  if  she 
wished  to  see  him  during  that  time  to  stop  at  the  little 
shed  below  the  mill  on  her  way  to  church  on  Sunday, 
where  she  would  find  him  at  work,  and  always  glad  to  see 
her.  All  of  this  pleased  me  exceedingly,  and  caused  me 
to  watch  opportunity  to  shake  the  brave  fellow's  hand 
occasionally  as  he  hurried  past  me,  which  seemed  very 
agreeable  to  him,  although  I  doubt  if  he  understood  what 
it  meant. 

As  I  watched  the  men  at  their  work  I  saw  that  Jo  had 
a  troubled,  weary  look,  and  I  thought  for  the  first  time 
that  his  strength  might  not  prove  equal  to  his  ambition, 
for  I  knew  that  there  were  yet  several  years  of  hard  work 
ahead  of  him,  but  as  I  saw  how  eagerly  he  went  at  every 
thing,  as  though  the  delay  was  more  disagreeable  than 
the  work,  I  was  reassured,  and  felt  that  he  would  accom 
plish  all  he  had  set  out  to  do, 

I  do  not  remember  who  told  me,  but  I  learned  from 
some  source  that  Mateel  often  complained  of  being  lonely 
»nd  of  having  nothing  to  do,  and  I  thought  that  thii 
industrious  man  must  soon  overtake  and  pass  her  hi  learn 
ing  and  ability,  and  that  she  would  regret  in  her  future 
that  she  had  not  unproved  the  opportunities  of  woman 
hood  as  he  had  improved  the  opportunities  of  manho»  H 


AN  ENGAGED  COUPLHL  196 

While  Mateel  was  a  pretty  and  amiable  woman,  there 
was  not  the  depth  to  her  that  Jo  was  acquiring,  and  I 
wondered  if  it  ever  occurred  to  her  that  Jo  would  finally 
be  a  man  worthy  to  be  the  husband  of  any  woman ;  a  man 
gelf-reliant  and  self-taught,  and  expecting  a  return  for 
everything  he  gave.  I  wondered  if  she  ever  thought  Jo 
had  been  raised  at  a  hard  school,  and  would  tire  of  simple 
ami  ability.  If  he  was  anything  at  all,  he  was  an  example 
of  what  well-directed  effort  would  do,  and  I  thought  the 
day  would  come  when  he  could  not  understand  why 
Mateel  was  not  his  equal,  although  she  was  older,  and 
had  every  opportunity,  while  he  had  none.  I  thought 
that  as  Jo  had  been  friendless  all  his  life  he  would  hope 
for  a  great  deal  of  considerate  affection  from  his  wife,  and 
that  he  would  be  disappointed  if  he  were  compelled  to 
continue  his  old  habit  of  being  thoughtful  of  every  one, 
but  having  to  regret  that  no  one  was  thoughtful  of  him. 
I  wondered  if  Mateel  knew  that  Jo  was  no  longer  the 
rough,  awkward  boy  she  had  met  during  her  first  week  in 
Fairview,  and  that  he  was  now  a  growing,  vigorous  man, 
ahead  of  all  his  companions  in  ability  and  intelligence, 
and  that  every  year  he  would  throw  away  old  ideas  for 
better  ones.  Jo  had  told  her  in  his  manly  love  that  she 
was  a  perfect  woman,  and  that  it  would  require  his  efforts 
for  a  lifetime  to  become  her  equal,  and  I  think  she  was 
pleased  with  this,  and  believed  it.  I  am  certain  she  never 
laid  to  Jo  that  he  was  a  remarkable  fellow,  and  that  he 
deserved  more  credit  than  she  could  give  him  for  his 
nauly  love  for  her  —  which  was  no  more  than  the  truth 
—  but  rather  thought  herself  worthy  of  the  toil  he  had 
andcrgone ;  not  that  she  was  selfish,  perhaps,  but  because 
,  o  had  told  her  so,  or  maybe  she  had  never  thought  about 
it  at  all  except  that  Jo  was  very  fond  of  her,  and  w&4 
wixious  to  please  her.  I  would  have  given  a  great  deal 


196  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY   TOWN. 

to  know  that  she  frequently  gave  Jo  a  word  of  enoo^arage- 
ment,  but  if  she  ever  did  he  never  told  me  of  it,  and  foi 
this  reason  I  was  convinced  that  she  never  did. 

In  the  afternoon  I  rode  over  to  Fairview  church,  whei 
Agnes  was  teaching  the  school,  and  although  I  half  ei 
pected  to  find  the  building  surrounded  by  young  men  OB 
their  knees  with  proposals  of  marriage,  begging  her  to 
accept  one  of  the  number,  and  permit  the  others  to  drown 
their  grief  in  the  nearest  deep  water,  only  the  smaller 
boys  and  girls  were  in  attendance,  the  older  ones  being  at 
borne  busy  with  the  summer's  work.  Agnes  was  prettier 
than  ever,  I  thought,  and  although  I  knew  the  style  had 
only  reached  Twin  Mounds  the  week  before,  she  wore  a 
dress  cut  in  what  was  then  known  as  the  "  Princess  "  pat 
tern.  She  greeted  me  with  so  much  genuine  pleasure 
that  I  was  ashamed  to  acknowledge  that  I  had  been  in 
the  neighborhood  since  morning,  and  felt  guilty  that  I 
had  not  driven  directly  to  Fairview ;  and  leading  me 
through  the  rows  of  benches,  she  seated  me  in  a  chair  in 
front  of  her  rude  desk,  which  the  children  had  adorned 
with  wild  flowers. 

I  sat  there  nearly  an  hour  before  school  was  dismissed, 
very  uncomfortable  from  being  looked  at  so  steadily  by 
the  scholars.  Two  or  three  of  The.  Meek's  family,  who 
nad  come  on  since  I  left  Fairview,  were  there,  and  I  read 
ily  picked  them  out  by  their  white  heads  and  good  humor 
I  could  tell  who  nearly  all  of  them  were  by  characteristics 
of  one  kind  and  another,  though  I  did  not  know  any  of 
iliem,  but  there  was  one  boy  —  evidently  the  son  of  a 
renter  lately  arrived,  for  I  could  not  imagine  who  he 
was  —  who  made  me  particularly  uncomfortable  by  mi 
micking  me  when  I  was  not  looking.  He  created  a  great 
leal  of  merriment,  I  remember,  by  pasting  his  hair  down 
on  his  forehead  as  mine  was  (I  had  visited  the  barber'i 


THE  SCHOOL  IN  THE  CHURCH.  197 

before  starting,  and  the  barbers  oiled  and  combed 
their  customers'  hair  then  as  they  do  now,  for  barberi 
never  improve),  and  I  caught  him  puffing  at  a  pen-holder, 
intimating  that  in  the  community  where  I  lived  the  cigar 
habit  was  evidently  common.  I  wore  a  very  flashy  necktie, 
and  he  made  one  out  of  the  back  of  a  blue  copy-book  to 
represent  it,  which  he  pasted  on  his  chin,  then  on  his 
neck,  and  then  on  his  breast.  I  thought  of  going  out  into 
the  yard  to  get  rid  of  him,  but  I  knew  the  impudent  boy 
wonld  mimic  my  walk,  and  make  me  ridiculous  again,  so 
I  stood  it  in  silence  until  the  children  were  called  up  in  a 
row  for  the  final  spelling  class,  in  which  I  was  invited  to 
participate,  and  where  I  triumphed  over  my  enemy  by 
correctly  spelling  all  the  words  he  missed.  Then  they  all 
read  a  chapter  in  chorus  from  the  Bible,  and  were  dis 
missed.  I  wtis  afraid  the  renter's  boy  would  stay  around 
until  I  handed  Agnes  into  the  buggy,  but  he  walked  to 
the  door  in  a  manner  which  intimated  that  I  was  bow- 
legged,  and  disappeared  with  a  whoop. 

After  they  had  gone  Agnes  sat  down  at  a  desk  near  the 
door,  where  she  had  bid  the  last  one  good-bye,  and  looked 
at  me  curiously. 

"  Are  you  glad  to  see  me  ?  "  I  asked,  not  knowing  what 
else  to  say. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  with  her  pretty  laugh,  "  but  you 
don't  seem  tc  be  the  same  boy  who  came  to  school  here  a 
few  years  ago.  You  have  grown  so  much  that  you  seem 
like  a  stranger  instead  of  an  old  friend." 

She  laughed  merrily  at  my  look  of  astonishment,  and 
pretended  to  be  frightened  when  I  went  over  and  sat 
beside  her. 

"  Why  did  n't  you  say  when  you  came  in,"  she  asked, 
*  *  This  school  is  dismissed  ;  I  am  a  friend  of  the  teach 
er's  j  I  expected  you  to  say  4hat,  but  instead  you  waited 


198  THE  STORY  OF  A  COCTNTRY  TOWN. 

patiently  until  I  should  dismiss  it  myself.  When  I  knew 
Ned  Westlock  he  was  a  boy  of  spirit.  But  I  am  as  glad 
to  see  you  as  I  can  be.  This  is  my  week  at  Theodore 
Meek's,  and  you  may  drive  me  there  as  slowly  as  your 
horses  can  walk." 

I  am  sure  I  felt  like  dismissing  the  school  when  I  came 
in,  but  I  never  thought  of  it.  I  never  felt  more  at  a  loss 
in  my  life  for  something  to  say,  and  sat  looking  at  her  in 
a  sort  of  blind  astonishment,  blushing  like  a  child.  I 
wanted  to  tell  her  how  much  pleasure  the  contemplation 
of  this  visit  had  afforded  me,  but  I  could  not;  and 
finally,  tiring  of  being  stared  at,  she  got  up  and  went  to 
collecting  the  books  and  other  articles  she  intended  to 
take  home.  I  could  think  of  nothing  else  to  do,  so  I 
went  out  and  brought  the  buggy  around  to  the  door,  and 
after  helping  her  in  as  awkwardly  as  I  had  stared  at  her, 
we  drove  away. 

In  my  desperation  I  could  only  confess  that  I  had  been 
thinking  for  weeks  how  polished  and  agreeable  I  would 
be  in  my  manner  on  meeting  her,  but  that  her  pretty  face 
and  easy  way  had  scared  it  all  out  of  me ;  that  I  came  to 
Fairview  expressly  to  see  her,  and  that  I  hoped  there 
would  never  be  a  misunderstanding  between  us  with  ref 
erence  to  our  friendship. 

"  There  never  will  be,"  she  said,  in  her  innocent  and 
earnest  way,  putting  her  arm  through  mine,  and  seeming 
reassured  and  pleased.  "There  could  be  no  misunder- 
ttanding  between  you  and  me,  and  there  never  has  been. 
Wlhy  should  there  be?  "  ^  o~  *****  it,  f&vt^^  $r,»<rv* 

She  spoke  as  though  I  were  still  a  boy,  though  I  waa 
now  larger  than  she  was,  and  nearly  sixteen.  I  felt  sure 
ae  would  always  treat  me  as  a  boy,  no  difference  how 
tid  I  became. 

Aft  we  drove  along  slowly,  I  thought  that  if  a  strange? 


V 


"THERE  COULD  BE  NO  MISUNDERSTANDING  BETWEEN  YOU  AND  ME' 


BARKER  AND  AGNES.  199 

ihould  see  us  he  would  think  we  were  lovers,  but  Agnes 
evidently  did  not  think  of  it,  for  she  confessed  her  friend 
ship  for  me  in  a  hundred  different  ways,  which  I  am  sure 
she  would  not  have  done  had  she  thought  of  me  as  her 
Jover.  She  was  in  unusual  spirits,  and  though  I  felt  very 
proud  to  think  that  I  was  the  cause  of  it,  I  thought  that 
the  arrival  of  a  pretty  baby  of  which  she  had  once  been 
fond  would  have  made  her  as  happy.  I  hinted  gravely, 
once  or  twice,  that  we  were  "  growing  older,"  and  that  we 
"  could  not  always  be  children,"  but  she  would  only  say 
that  we  were  friends,  and  enjoyed  the  friendship.  I  think 
she  was  content  with  that,  and  did  not  look  beyond  it. 

"  I  had  almost  forgotten  it,"  she  said,  when  we  neared 
The.  Meek's  premises ;  "  but  your  old  friend  Damon  Bar. 
ker  comes  to  see  me  every  week  now,  at  the  school.  Some- 
times  he  comes  at  noon,  at  other  times  in  the  evening,  but 
he  never  fails  to  appear  at  least  once  a  week.  The  first 
time  he  came  the  children  were  dismissed  for  the  day ;  I 
was  alone,  and  although  he  is  a  black-whiskered,  fierce- 
ooking  man  I  was  not  afraid  of  him,  and  he  walked  part 
way  home  with  me.  Since  then  he  comes  frequently,  and 
although  he  pretends  that  he  only  stops  hi  while  passing, 
I  believe  he  comes  all  the  way  from  the  mill  to  see  me." 

While  Barker  was  a  little  old,  I  was  not  surprised  that 
he  had  fallen  in  love  with  Agnes ;  I  only  wondered  that 
every  one  did  not.  But  after  I  thought  more  of  it  I  be 
came  convinced  that  wise,  good,  sensible  Barker  only 
admired  her  sweet,  pretty  face,  and  was  not  in  love. 

"  What  does  he  say  to  you  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Nothing,  except  to  question  me  about  the  school  and 
make  sensible  suggestions  with  reference  to  its  manage 
ment.  He  never  tires  in  listening  to  me,  but  says  little 
Mmself." 

I  then  told  her  what  I  knew  about  Barker,  his  curioui 


200  THE  STOR*    OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

home,  and  how  much  I  admired  him.  I  was  glad  that 
he  had  taken  an  interest  in  her,  for  he  would  see  that  she 
was  never  subjected  to  wrong  nor  injustice  from  any 
source,  and  Agnes  was  greatly  pleased  when  I  paid  that, 
when  opportunity  offered,  we  would  visit  him  at  the  mill 
together. 

The  enthusiasm  in  The.  Meek's  family  over  my  arrival 
reminded  me  of  the  feeling  in  a  mass-meeting  when  a 
popular  speaker  gets  up,  for  they  were  all  at  home,  and 
made  quite  an  army.  The  white-headed  boys,  who  had 
not  grown  much,  except  in  good-humor,  reminded  me  of 
the  jack-oaks  on  the  Twin  Mounds  hills,  which  perceptibly 
grew  older,  but  not  larger,  and  The.  Meek  and  his  wife 
welcomed  me  as  though  I  were  an  old  friend  wlio  had 
gone  out  into  the  world  and  greatly  distinguished  himself. 
Before  I  was  fairly  in  the  house  it  was  arranged  that  I 
should  remain  until  after  supper,  and  return  by  moonlight 
to  my  grandfather's,  which  suited  me  very  well,  as  I  had 
not  yet  seen  enough  of  Agnes.  I  had  noticed  before  that 
there  was  always  so  much  to  do  around  The.  Meek's 
house  that  members  of  his  family  no  sooner  finished  their 
day's  work  than  they  went  to  bed,  and  in  the  preparation 
for  my  entertainment  they  were  busier  than  ever,  so  that 
Agnes  and  I  were  alone  for  an  hour,  which  we  both  en 
joyed,  though  we  were  not  so  easy  as  we  pretended  to  be, 
for  I  caught  her  looking  stealthily  at  me,  and  I  am  quite 
sure  I  was  often  admiring  her. 

When  I  started  to  return  to  the  mill  —  which  I  did 
niter  a  long  religious  service  and  a  light  supper  —  Agnes 
proposed  to  ride  a  short  distance  with  me,  and  then  I 
brought  her  back,  and  she  went  part  way  with  me  again, 
sc  that  it  was  quite  late  when  I  finally  got  away.  The 
cc  antry  being  familiar  to  me,  I  drove  through  the  field 
paths  to  shorten  the  distance,  «md  hurried  along  as  rap 


THE  NIGHT  HAWK.  201 

idly  as  I  could,  for  I  knew  they  would  be  waiting  for  me. 
As  I  came  out  into  the  main  road,  and  was  closing  a  gate, 
a  horseman  dashed  by  me,  riding  toward  the  mill,  and  I 
saw  with  some  surprise  that  it  was  Clinton  Bragg,  on  the 
wicked,  vicious  horse.  I  followed  leisurely,  preferring  to 
avoid  him,  but  probably  knowing  who  it  was  he  stopped 
beside  the  road,  allowing  me  to  pass  so  closely  that  I 
could  have  touched  him  with  my  hand  h.'id  I  wished. 
Then  he  would  run  by,  as  if  to  frighten  my  horses, 
and  this  performance  he  repeated  so  many  times  that  I 
would  have  pulled  him  off  his  horse  and  beaten  him  had 
I  the  strength.  When  I  arrived  at  the  Ford  he  was  there 
before  me,  allowing  his  vicious  horse  to  drink  below  the 
dam,  and  while  I  stood  on  the  hill  looking  at  him  he  rode 
out  and  galloped  off  through  the  dark  woods,  as  though 
he  could  see  better  by  night  than  by  day.  I  could  not 
help  thinking  that  the  place  where  he  disappeared  would 
be  a  favorable  one  for  a  murder,  and  that  if  Bragg  had  a 
desperate  enemy  it  would  not  be  safe  for  him  to  ride 
through  such  a  dark  wood  at  night. 

I  believe  he  wanted  me  to  know  he  had  taken  the  road 
to  the  Shepherds,  with  the  hope  that  I  would  tell  Jo,  and 
annoy  him;  but  for  once  he  went  to  his  trouble  for 
nothing,  for  when  I  went  into  the  house  Jo  was  sound 
in  the  middle  bed,  and  resting  easily  and  quietly. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE  FALL  OF  BEV.  JOHN  WESTLOCK. 

ONE  Sunday  morning,  in  the  fall  of  the  year,  after  1 
had  got  out  of  bed  and  dressed  myself,  —  I  was  still 
occupying  a  room  in  connection  with  Martin  in  the  build 
ing  where  the  business  of  printing  was  carried  on, — I 
found  a  letter  on  my  desk  addressed  in  my  father's  writ- 
ing,  and  after  Martin  had  gone  out  I  sat  down  to  read  it. 
The  first  line  startled  me,  for  it  read  as  follows :  — 

MY  DEAR  SON,  — When  this  falls  into  your  hands  I  shall  be 
travelling  the  broad  road  I  have  so  often  warned  others  against ;  an 
outcast,  and  disgraced  in  the  sight  of  God  and  man;  for  I  am  going 
away,  and  shall  never  come  back. 

I  shall  not  attempt  to  tell  you  why  I  am  going  away,  for  I  do 
not  know  myself,  except  that  I  am  discontented  as  I  am,  which  has 
been  my  condition  since  I  can  remember.  I  do  n't  know  that  I 
believe  the  step  I  am  taking  will  make  me  more  contented,  but  I 
know  I  cannot  remain  as  I  am,  for  the  Devil  has  complete  posses 
sion  of  me,  and  leads  me  to  do  that  which  is  most  disgraceful  and 
wicked. 

Whether  you  know  it  or  not  is  not  important  to  the  purposes  of 
this  letter,  but  for  seven  years  I  have  been  infatuated  with  the  wo- 
BUUI  who  is  my  companion  in  this  wicked  business,  and  she  has 
been  the  temptation  against  which  I  have  fought  and  prayed,  but  in 
•pite  of  my  efforts  and  prayers  it  has  grown  on  me,  until  I  am  no 
longer  a  man.  If  you  still  have  confidence  in  my  truthfulness  J 
need  only  say  that  I  fought  this  infatuation  with  all  my  strength, 
but  I  am  weaker  than  you  know,  and,  after  a  life  devoted  to  princi 
ple,  1  am  adrift  on  an  unknown  sea,  for  as  God  is  my  witness  thif 
if  my  first  offence. 
Ml 


A  CONFESSION.  203 

In  a  package  in  my  desk,  with  your  name  on  the  wrapper,  will 
be  found  the  deeds  to  all  I  possess,  together  with  notes  and  ac 
counts,  and  full  instructions  as  to  their  management.  The  money 
I  take  with  me  is  so  small  in  amount  that  it  will  never  be  missed, 
If  you  manage  well,  and  work  well,  in  a  few  years  you  can  aJinos- 
rejoice  1hat  I  went  away  as  I  did,  for  all  the  property  I  leave  you  ifi 
advancing  in  value,  and  will  in  time  make  you  independent,  if  yoo 
attend  to  it. 

Although  it  may  seem  odd  that  I  give  you  advice  which  I  can 
not  accept  myself,  I  desire  that  you  he  industrious  arid  honest 
You  can  be  successful  in  no  other  way,  and  you  are  now  the  sole 
support  and  comfort  of  your  mother,  who,  I  can  attest,  was  very 
good  to  you  when  you  were  helpless.  That  she  has  not  t  een  more 
affectionate  with  you  since  you  have  grown  up  has  been  partly  my 
fault,  for  I  do  not  believe  in  affection.  Whether  I  was  right  01 
wrong  does  not  matter  now:  as  I  seem  to  have  been  wrong  .in 
everything  else,  perhaps  I  was  in  that. 

I  do  not  know  whether  you  partake  of  my  discontent  or  not; 
your  mother  was  always  contented  with  her  home,  and  with  what 
ever  fortune  brought  her,  and  I  hope  you  are  like  her  in  this ;  but 
if  you  are  not  it  is  only  a  question  of  time  when  you  will  travel  the 
same  road  I  am  on,  for  no  one  constituted  as  I  am  can  become  a 
good  husband,  a  good  citizen,  or  a  good  man.  I  wonder  that  I  helc1 
out  as  long  as  I  did,  and  it  is  the  only  thing  I  can  think  of  to  my 
credit  that  I  did  not  take  this  step  years  ago.  No  one  can  ever 
know  what  a  struggle  I  have  had  against  temptation,  or  how 
humiliated  I  was  when  I  found  that  I  must  give  up  after  all,  and 
become  the  subject  of  scandal  among  the  small  people  I  despise, 
and  although  I  know  that  no  man  ever  deserved  pity  more  than  I 
do  now,  I  am  certain  that  there  is  not  one  who  will  extend  to  me 
that  small  favor. 

To  tell  the  truth  seems  to  have  been  as  much  a  part  of  my  na 
ture  as  discontent,  therefore  I  assure  you  with  my  last  words  that 
bince  I  was  old  enough  to  remember  I  ha^e  been  as  unhappy  as  it 
was  possible  for  a  man  to  be.  There  has  never  been  a  favorable 
Circumstance  connected  with  my  history.  I  think  I  never  did  a 
thing  in  my  life  that  it  was  not  distasteful,  and  that  which  I  am 
nbout  to  do  is  most  distasteful  of  all,  though  I  cannot  help  it. 

I  am  not  going  away  with  the  hope  of  being  more  contented 
than  I  nave  been,  for  I  do  not  expect  it.  Discontent  is  my  di?- 
iase,  and  this  is  merely  a  natural  stage  of  't.  I  have  complaint  t« 


204  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN, 

make  against  no  one  but  myself;  no  one  has  driven  me  away,  and 
no  one  has  tempted  me,  but  I  go  because  I  cannot  remain  as  I  am, 
I  cannot  explain  to  you  what  I  mean  by  such  a  strange  assertion, 
but  it  is  true  —  I  am  running  away  from  myself.  My  health  ii 
good,  my  business  prosperous,  my  family  everything  that  a  reason 
able  man  could  desire,  but  in  spite  of  this  I  am  so  nervous,  wretched, 
and  unreasonable  that  the  sight  of  my  home,  the  sight  of  you,  the 
greetings  of  people  I  meet,  fill  me  with  desperation  and  wicked 
ness.  I  believe  that  were  I  compelled  to  remain  here  an  other  week, 
I  should  murder  somebody  —  I  don't  know  who;  anybody  —  and 
for  no  other  reason  than  that  I  cannot  control  myself.  I  have  care 
fully  investigated  my  own  mind,  fearing  I  had  lost  my  reason,  but 
my  brain  is  healthy  and  active;  it  is  discontent,  inexplicable  and 
monstrous,  and  horrible  beyond  expression. 

When  I  remember  how  discontented  I  have  been  in  the  past, 
though  favorably  situated,  I  tremble  to  think  what  it  must  be  in 
the  future,  when  I  shall  have  my  disgrace  and  crime  to  remember 
in  addition  to  it,  but  perhaps  it  will  serve  to  hasten  the  end,  and 
relieve  me  of  a  life  which  I  never  desired,  and  which  I  would  have 
rid  the  world  of  years  ago,  but  for  the  reason  that  I  was  afraid. 
Your  father, 

JOHN  WESTLOCK. 

I  have  a  recollection  of  feeling  faint  and  sick  after  read 
ing  the  letter,  and  when  I  started  up  to  go  home,  I  remem 
ber  that  I  staggered  like  a  drunken  man,  and  reeled  along 
the  street  in  such  a  manner  that  those  whom  I  passed 
surely  thought  I  was  returning  from  a  night's  debauch. 
My  first  thought  was  that  the  best  thing  I  could  do  waa 
to  give  the  office  to  Martin,  and  take  my  mother,  and 
leave  the  country,  too,  before  any  one  knew  of  the  dis 
grace,  but  when  I  remembered  the  advice  in  the  letter 
with  reference  to  the  business,  I  knew  it  was  his  deliber 
ate  judgment  that  I  should  stay  and  live  it  down ;  and 
he  must  have  thought  of  it  a  great  deal.  A  thousand  dis 
turbing  thoughts  passed  through  my  mind  as  I  went  along, 
and  once  when  I  went  into  an  old  and  vacant  house  to 
avoid  meeting  a  party  of  people  who  were  coming  toward 


.BREAKING  THE  NEWS.  205 

me,  the  first  feeling  of  faintness  returned  so  strong  that  1 
was  compelled  to  lie  down  on  a  heap  of  straw  and  rub 
bish. 

My  greatest  dread  in  it  all  was  to  break  the  news  to  my 
unhappy  mother,  and  trying  to  brace  myself  with  the 
thought  that  I  was  now  entrusted  with  grave  responsi 
bilities,  and  no  longer  a  boy  dependent  on  the  advice  of 
another,  I  passed  down  the  street  and  into  the  house. 

After  considerable  search  I  found  my  mother  seated  in 
a  lew  chair  in  the  kitchen,  as  I  had  seen  her  a  hundred 
times  before,  but  for  some  reason  —  I  could  not  explain  it 
then,  nor  can  I  now  —  I  felt  that  she  had  sat  there  all 
night,  and  that  she  knew  that  he  had  gone.  There  was  a 
certain  timid,  frightened  look  in  her  eyes  when  I  came  in, 
an  inexpressible  grief  in  her  manner,  and  so  much  sorrow 
in  the  tears  which  came  afresh  at  sight  of  me,  which  con 
vinced  me  that  I  had  nothing  to  tell  her,  and  I  learned 
afterwards  that  he  had  told  her  what  he  had  written  me 
before  leaving,  and  that  he  had  shaken  hands  with  her  on 
parting,  and  begged  her  not  to  be  distressed. 

My  first  action  was  to  pull  down  all  the  blinds  at  the 
windows  and  lock  all  the  doors,  for  I  was  determined  that 
no  one  should  enter  the  house  that  day,  and  I  hurriedly 
carried  in  a  supply  of  wood  and  water,  as  though  we  were 
to  live  that  way  a  good  many  days,  or  that  we  should  live 
in  the  house  forever,  without  seeing  any  one. 

As  the  day  wore  away,  I  found  my  determination  in 
creasing  to  make  the  best  of  it,  and  though  I  tried  to  rally 
my  mother,  she  would  say  nothing.  Finally  I  gently 
forced  her  to  leave  the  low  chair ,  and  lie  down,  where 
she  covered  her  head,  and  sobbed  the  livelong  day. 

Though  I  read  the  letter  over  a  great  many  times  (hav 
ing  gone  to  one  of  the  upper  rooms  for  the  purpose,  where 
I  could  see  the  people  passing,  and  looking  wondering! y 


206  THE  STOKY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

At  th3  house  to  see  it  shut  up  BO  tight),  I  could  make 
nothing  out  of  it  further  than  that  the  Rev.  John  West- 
lock  had  run  away,  taking  Mrs.  B.  Tremaine  with  him, 
and  that  he  had  been  infatuated  with  her  for  seven  years, 
a  circumstance  of  which  I  had  not  the  remotest  suspicion 
until  that  day.  I  knew  now  that  on  his  visits  to  the  coun 
try  he  met  this  woman  at  some  convenient  place,  but 
beyond  that,  and  the  fear  once  expressed  by  Barker  that 
his  religion  would  prove  an  unfortunate  thing  for  him,  I 
was  puzzled  to  understand  it,  further  than  the  letter  had 
explained. 

I  knew  now  that  the  trouble  which  caused  him  to  quit 
preaching,  and  to  seclude  himself  from  callers  at  the 
office,  related  to  the  woman,  but  I  had  never  suspected  it 
before,  for  I  had  never  tried  to  explain  his  thoughtful- 
ness,  believing  it  was  simply  his  way,  and  that  his  father 
had  been  a  thinking  man  before  him.  He  was  a  man  of 
such  excellent  sense  that  suspicion  would  not  attach  to 
him,  particularly  suspicion  of  weakness  in  religion  or 
morality,  and  I  only  thought  of  it  to  become  more 
puzzled. 

Before  night  I  came  to  the  conclusion,  though  it  gave 
me  a  sad  heart,  that  the  sooner  the  community  was  made 
aware  of  the  matter,  the  sooner  would  its  gossiping  and 
conjecturing  cease,  and  when  night  was  setting  in,  I 
hailed  a  boy  who  was  passing,  and  sent  a  note  to  Martin 
requesting  him  to  come  to  the  house.  He  came  soon 
after,  when  I  explained  everything  to  him,  and  read  the 
letter,  which  he  heard  with  great  surprise.  I  then  re- 
quested  him  to  go  wherever  there  was  a  crowd  that  even 
ing,  and  tell  it,  to  the  end  that  the  people  might  discuss  it 
through  the  night,  as  I  preferred  that  course  to  a  suspense 
of  several  weeks,  for  we  could  have  kept  it  from  then 
that  long  on  one  pretext  and  another. 


A.  LONELY  HOUSE.  207 

Martin  approved  of  this  idea,  though  he  was  too  much 
lurprised  to  say  much  else,  and  when  he  went  out,  I  saw 
him  stop  people  on  the  street,  and  talk  with  them,  and 
who  at  once  looked  up  at  the  house,  and  seemed  greatly 
surprised. 

No  lights  were  lit  in  the  house  that  night,  and  I  spent 
the  hours  hi  wandering  through  the  vacant  rooms;  in 
wondering  what  the  people  were  saying  about  it ;  how 
they  would  feel  with  reference  to  my  continuing  the  busi 
ness,  and  how  they  explained  it  all.  Frequently  I  went 
into  the  room  where  my  mother  was  lying  down,  and  she 
was  still  for  such  a  long  time  that  I  hoped  she  was  ob 
livious  to  her  trouble  in  sleep,  but  in  waiting  to  assure 
myself  of  it  before  retiring,  I  heard  her  sob  in  such  a 
pitiful  manner  that  I  resumed  my  walk  through  the  lonely 
rooms,  and  listened  again  to  the  echoes  of  my  own  foot- 

steps. 

•  •  •  »  • 

1  spent  my  evenings  at  home  after  my  father's  disap 
pearance,  at  first  from  necessity,  because  my  mother 
needed  me  there,  and  because  I  had  work  to  do,  but  I 
gradually  grew  to  like  it,  and  regretted  when  I  had  to  be 
away.  My  mother  was  much  changed  and  broken  by  her 
desertion,  and  if  I  read  far  into  the  night  —  which  I  often 
did,  for  my  education  was  indifferent,  and  I  found  a  cer 
tain  amount  of  knowledge  indispensable  in  my  daily  work 
—  she  sat  beside  me,  employed  in  knitting  or  mending. 

If  I  wrote  something  I  thought  was  very  good  —  I  am 
certain  now  I  never  did  —  I  read  it  to  her ;  if  I  found  a 
paragraph  in  a  book  or  newspaper  which  I  thought  sur 
prising  or  strange,  I  read  that;  but  while  she  always 
listened  attentively,  she  had  no  comments  to  offer.  In 
deed,  I  think  there  were  weeks  together  when  she  did  not 
speak  to  me  at  all,  except  to  call  me  in  the  morning  at  th« 


208  THE  STOHY  OF   A  COTJ.NTRY  TOWN. 

hour  I  told  her  I  should  like  to  get  up,  or  to  inquire  aftei 
ray  small  wants. 

A+,  first  the  neighbors  thought  it  a  kindness  to  keep  the 
house  full  of  callers,  believing  her  to  be  lonely,  but  they 
at  last  discovered  that  it  would  be  a  greater  kindness  to 
leave  her  alone,  which  they  afterwards  did,  so  it  came 
about  that  we  lived  a  lonely  life.  Occasionally  Martin 
came  in  the  evening  to  sit  an  hour,  and  a  few  times  Agnes 
was  a  visitor  to  the  gloomy  house,  but  these  visits  wera 
so  far  apart  that  we  seemed  to  see  no  one  at  all.  Some 
times  I  took  her  out  for  a  drive,  and  on  these  occasions 
she  would  perceptibly  revive,  and  say  that  this  or  that 
place  had  changed  since  last  she  saw  it,  but  of  her  trouble 
she  never  spoke  at  all.  One  pleasant  Sunday  I  drove  OB 
the  road  to  Fairview,  thinking  to  call  on  Jo  at  the  mill, 
but  she  gently  touched  the  lines,  and  said  "  Not  to  Fab- 
view,"  so  I  turned  around,  and  drove  another  way. 

Before  my  father  went  away  he  dealt  a  great  deal  ir 
ivild  land,  taking  stock  of  every  kind  in  payment,  and  I 
still  kept  a  pair  of  strong  and  fleet  horses  which  had  be 
longed  to  him,  and  of  which  he  was  very  proud,  at  first 
because  I  could  not  sell  them  for  the  price  they  were 
worth,  and  lately  because  I  had  grown  to  like  them. 
They  were  very  rapid  in  harness,  and  when  we  rode  out 
my  mother  enjoyed  more  than  anything  else  the  excite 
ment  of  passing  other  teams,  speaking  many  kind  words 
for  "  Dan "  and  "  Dave."  She  took  great  interest,  also, 
ic  seeing  tliat  they  were  well  cared  for,  and  though  I  was 
afterwards  offered  a  good  price  for  them,  I  kept  them  at 
considerable  expense  and  trouble  because  she  seemed  to 
take  an  interest  in  nothing  else. 

Her  condition  was  so  lonely  that  I  became  more  of  « 
ion  than  I  had  ever  been  before,  and  tried  always  to  b« 
earefuJ  of  her  wants.  She  reciprocated  this  with  kind 


THE  PATIENT   WATCffEB.  209 

neas  and  attention,  but  I  cannot  say  with  affection. 
When  I  went  to  my  bed  at  night,  I  always  left  her  sitting 
in  her  chair,  and  after  I  had  retired  it  was  her  custom  to 
come  softly  up  the  stairs  to  see  if  I  was  comfortable.  If 
it  was  cold,  she  tucked  the  covering  about  me  as  if  I 
were  yet  a  child,  and  I  remember  now  —  I  do  not  believe 
I  thought  of  it  then  —  that  she  talked  to  me  more  at 
these  times  than  at  any  other,  as  if  the  darkness  removed 
a  restraint.  Perhaps  she  felt  a  disgrace  in  the  presence 
of  her  son  that  his  parents  had  treated  him  so  indifferently, 
and  only  felt  easy  when  he  could  not  see  her  face.  Somfl 
men  remember  their  mothers  from  their  good-night  kisses, 
but  I  remember  mine  by  the  gentle  manner  in  which  she 
smoothed  the  covering  of  my  bed  at  night,  and  I  grew  so 
iccustomed  to  it  that  I  could  not  have  gone  to  sleep  with 
out  it.  After  this  was  done,  she  lingered  about  the  room 
as  long  as  she  could  find  excuse,  frequently  referring  to 
subjects  of  which  I  had  spoken  in  the  evening,  and  then 
went  slowly  down  the  stairs. 

How  she  passed  the  night  I  never  knew,  but  I  never 
found  her  in  bed.  Frequently  I  thought  to  go  into  her 
room  at  midnight,  to  see  if  she  were  awake,  but  in  wait 
ing  for  the  hour,  I  fell  asleep.  If  I  came  home  late  at 
night,  whether  she  expected  me  or  not,  I  found  her  up, 
and  often  when  a  slight  complaint  made  me  wakeful  and 
restless,  I  found  her  by  my  side,  offering  me  water,  01 
some  simple  remedy.  From  the  woman  who  came  to  the 
house  to  work  through  the  day,  but  who  slept  at  home,  1 
learned  that  my  mother  frequently  lay  down  in  her  room 
during  the  day,  and  probably  slept ;  so  I  think  that  gen 
erally  she  did  not  close  her  eyes  at  night  nor  go  to  bed. 

If  I  advised  with  her  in  reference  to  my  father's  affairi 
— -  there  was  really  no  need  of  it,  for  he  left  them  in  e^- 
te!)  ent  sLape,  with  fuP  instructions  to  me,  and  she  knew 


210     THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOW  ft. 

nothing  about  them  —  she  listened  attentively,  but  the 
details  seemed  to  tire  her.  Occasionally  a  man  would 
intimate  that  my  father  had  not  credited  a  payment  on  an 
account  or  a  note,  and  appealing  to  her,  she  would  s,iy : 
"  Your  father  was  honorable  in  business ;  the  man  is 
taken,"  and  so  it  turned  out.  If  I  told  her  of  my 
affairs,  she  was  equally  attentive,  but  seemed  to  be  sat 
isfied  with  my  course,  and  had  no  suggestions  to  offer.  1 
hoped  to  hear  her  say  I  was  doing  well,  or  that  the  business 
did  not  miss  its  founder,  but  if  she  thought  it,  she  kept  it 
to  herself. 

I  believe  that  she  always  thought  it  possible  that  her 
husband  would  tire  of  his  fancy,  and,  coming  back  to  her 
poor  and  old,  they  would  finish  their  lives  together.  Per 
haps  she  never  went  to  bed  at  night  because  she  was 
always  expecting  his  knock  at  the  door,  and  remained  up 
to  assure  him  that  he  was  welcome.  She  believed  that  a 
man  of  his  sturdy,  honest  principles  could  not  be  content 
wandering  aimlessly  about,  ashamed  to  own  his  name  and 
his  country,  so  the  vigils  through  the  long  nights  were 
kept  up.  He  would  not  come  during  the  day,  when  he 
would  meet  familiar  and  accusing  faces  at  every  turn,  but 
at  night,  when  the  town  was  quiet,  and  the  people  were 
asleep,  therefore  there  was  always  a  light  in  his  old  room, 
and  his  deserted  but  forgiving  wife  was  always  waiting 
to  hear  his  step  in  the  street,  and  his  knock  on  the  door. 
The  people  of  the  town  frequently  came  down  the  little 
Street  which  led  past  the  house  to  look  at  the  light  which 
was  always  burning,  and  which  cast  its  rays  out  intc  the 
darkness  like  a  kindly  star;  they  told  the  story  of  the 
light  to  strangers  in  pitying  whispers,  and  many  of  them 
believed  that  the  patience  of  the  lonely  watcher  would  be 
rewarded  at  last  by  the  return  of  the  unhappy  wanderer. 

The  business  under  my  management  continued  to  bi 
profitable,  partly  because  Martin  and  I  gave  it  a  great 


BUSINESS  IMPBOVING.  211 

Seal  of  attention,  and  partly  because  it  was  without  op 
position.  Martin  was  really  a  very  superior  man,  and 
together  we  did  very  well,  making  improvements  as  the 
money  was  earned,  and  extending  the  business  whenever 
it  was  possible. 

I  was  at  first  inclined  to  feel  that  I  could  never  recover 
from  the  disgrace  of  my  father's  action,  but  after  Mr, 
Biggs  assured  me  that  it  was  ignorant  conceit  to  suppose 
that  the  people  Lad  nothing  else  to  do  than  to  think  of  my 
small  affairs ;  that  every  family  had  a  private  history,  and 
that  ours  was  no  worse  than  hundreds  of  others ;  that  I 
now  had  opportunity  to  make  a  reputation  for  myself,  hav 
ing  a  gift  of  a  considerable  property  to  start  with,  and 
that  so  far  as  I  was  personally  concerned,  my  father's 
action  was  really  a  benefit,  I  took  a  better  view  of  it,  and 
felt  that  if  I  conducted  the  business  creditably,  and  took 
good  care  of  my  mother,  the  people  would  be  more  apt  to 
speak  of  me  favorably  than  if  I  moped  around. 

During  the  first  few  weeks  a  great  many  of  my  father's 
staunch  friends  came  into  the  office,  and  announced  that 
they  would  not  believe  the  report ;  that  there  had  been 
foul  play,  but  to  these  I  read  the  letter,  whereupon  they 
went  away  very  much  puzzled,  and  without  saying  a 
word.  These  men,  and  there  was  a  great  number  of 
them,  encouraged  me  in  carrying  on  the  paper  in  every 
way  they  could,  and  as  they  were  of  the  class  which 
makes  public  opinion,  they  were  of  great  benefit  to  me. 

It  was  never  known  where  the  two  met,  how  they  left 
the  country,  or  what  direction  they  took.  I  heard  through 
Jo  that,  before  the  disappearance  of  my  father,  Mrs.  Tre- 
maine  had  been  away  from  home  several  days,  but  as  thii 
was  a  common  circumstance,  no  attention  was  paid  to  it. 
We  learned  by  degrees  that  their  names  had  long  been 
connected  with  suspicious  gossip,  but  they  seemed  to  have 
been  very  discreet,  for  the  matter  was  always  a  mystery. 


CHAPTER' XX. 

TWO  HEARTS  THAT  BEAT  AS  ONE. 

THE  Rev.  John  Westlock  went  away  in  the  latter  part 
of  September,  and  from  that  time  to  the  day  before 
Christmas,  a  period  of  three  months,  I  did  not  visit  Fair- 
view,  as  I  dreaded  the  questions  of  the  people,  for  one 
thing,  and  was  very  busy  for  another,  but  Jo  was  to  be 
married  on  the  24th  of  December,  and  nothing  would  have 
kept  me  away.  With  the  exception  that  he  wrote  me  a 
letter  saying  that  he  believed  Barker  was  pleased  at  the 
disappearance  of  his  sister,  I  had  not  even  heard  directly 
from  him,  much  less  seen  his  good,  honest  face,  though  I 
knew  the  mill  was  steadily  progressing,  of  which  fact  we 
made  appropriate  mention  hi  the  columns  of  the  "Unior 
of  States." 

We  had  a  sort  of  understanding  that,  as  we  should  both 
be  very  busy  during  the  summer,  we  would  put  off  a 
meeting  until  his  wedding,  and  besides  this  I  had  a  great 
desire  to  come  upon  the  completed  mill  in  operation. 
Therefore,  when  the  day  came  round,  I  was  early  on  the 
road,  having  arranged  for  an  absence  of  several  days,  anrt 
to  call  at  Theodore  Meek's  for  Agnes,  who  was  not  going 
home  for  the  holidays  until  after  Jo's  marriage. 

As  I  passed  Bragg's  apartments  I  noticed  that  the  place 
was  close  shut  up,  and  presumed  he  had  already  left  towL 
on  the  same  errand  as  that  on  which  I  was  bound ;  there 
fore  I  was  not  surprised  when  I  came  up  with  him  a  fe^r 
miles  out,  driving  his  vicious  horse  to  a  light  buggy.  See 
ing  my  approach,  he  allowed  his  horse  to  walk  in  the  roo<? 
212 


THE  WEDDING-DAY.  213 

ahead  of  me,  undoubtedly  intended  as  an  insult,  but  aftei 
submitting  to  it  a  few  minutes,  I  turned  out  and  went  by 
him,  though  he  lashed  his  horse,  and  tried  to  prevent  me 
His  horse  was  no  match  for  mine,  as  he  very  well  knew 
for  the  team  I  drove  trotted  so  briskly  as  to  scandalize 
the  church  to  which  my  father  had  belonged,  but  Bragg 
never  admitted  anything  without  a  struggle,  as  a  dog  haa 
to  be  kicked  out  of  your  road  every  day.  For  several 
miles  I  could  see  him  vigorously  following,  whipping  his 
mean  horse,  but  at  last  I  went  down  into  a  low  valley 
where  ran  a  creek  and  lost  sight  of  him. 

Duiing  all  the  time  I  had  known  him,  we  had  never 
spoken,  except  on  the  night  of  my  arrival  in  Twin 
Mounds,  and  as  I  grew  stronger  I  determined  to  whip 
him  for  the  many  insolences  he  had  practised  upon  me ; 
I  had  half  a  mind  to  stop  where  I  was  until  he  came  up, 
and  try  it  there,  but  the  uncertainty  of  the  result,  and  the 
fact  that  my  appearance  would  be  too  much  ruffled  at 
best  by  the  encounter  to  make  myself  presentable  at  a 
wedding,  induced  me  to  give  it  up,  and  wait  for  a  more 
favorable  opportunity. 

When  I  drove  up  to  The.  Meek's,  Agnes  was  already 
waiting  for  me,  and  coming  out  directly,  we  were  soon  on 
the  way.  Although  she  was  always  neatly  dressed,  and 
had  a  very  decided  talent  in  that  direction,  her  apparel 
was  so  gorgeous  that  day  as  to  cause  me  new  surprise,  but 
when  I  looked  at  it  attentively,  I  was  certain  it  was  inex 
pensive,  and  that  it  was  all  the  work  of  her  own  hands. 
[  remember  she  was  particularly  gay,  and  had  I  not 
known  differently,  I  might  of  thought  of  her  as  some 
favorite  child  of  good  fortune,  whose  paths  were  always 
oleasant.  There  was  nothing  to  mar  her  happiness,  it 
leemed,  except  the  misfortune  of  others,  which  she  fre 
quently  mentioned,  and  her  sympathy  for  my  mother  wai 


214  THE  STOEY  OF  A  COUNTET  TOWN. 

§o  earnest  and  gentle  that  I  worshipped  her  more  than 
ever,  though  I  had  never  admitted  to  myself  before  that 
I  did  not  already  love  her  to  the  greatest  extent  possible, 

When  we  arrived  at  the  Shepherds',  Jo  met  us  at  t  he 
gate,  and,  after  showing  Agnes  into  the  house,  went  with 
me  out  to  the  stables.  For  some  reason  I  became  con 
vinced  at  once  that  it  would  be  a  dreary  day,  for  Jc  was 
not  so  glad  to  see  me  as  I  had  expected,  after  the  long 
separation,  and  he  seemed  dissatisfied  about  something, 
although  I  do  not  believe  he  really  was.  It  was  a 
pleasant  day,  though  in  December,  and  after  the  horses 
were  put  away  we  walked  about,  attempting  to  renew  our 
old  confidences  anu  friendship,  but  we  did  not  get  on  as 
we  used  to  do.  He  was  the  same  Jo  in  most  respects,  but 
he  had  grown  thoughtful  and  careworn  in  the  last  few 
years,  and  I  mentioned  it,  to  which  he  replied  with  some 
impatience :  — 

"  You  say  that  whenever  we  meet.  You  forget  that  we 
are  both  older,  and  that  it  has  been  almost  four  years 
since  we  were  constantly  together.  It  was  always  our 
ambition,  when  we  were  boys,  to  become  men :  we  are 
becoming  men  very  rapidly,  and  while  I  am  satisfied,  you 
seem  to  complain  of  it.  But  we  never  become  so  old 
that  we  do  not  have  care  and  responsibility,  and  I  look 
like  a  thoughtful  "nan  to  you  only  because  in  the  course 
of  years  I  have  grown  to  be  a  thoughtful  man.  Further 
than  my  work  there  is  nothing  to  make  me  thoughtful  but 
the  age  I  have  accumulated  naturally,  and  I  look  older 
becaitse  I  AM  older.  Let  me  assure  you  once  for  all,  my 
good  old  friend,  that  I  am  stout  as  a  lion ;  I  am  prosper 
OUB  ;  I  am  to  be  married  in  a  few  hours  to  the  woman  of 
my  choice,  and  that  there  is  no  reason  why  I  should  not 
live  to  a  ripe  old  age  in  the  greatest  peace  There!  Art 
poa  satisfied?" 


NOW  AND  THEN,  215 

**  I  enjoyed  your  friendship  so  mucL  when  yon  were  a 
boy,*  I  answered,  "  that  perhaps  it  is  only  a  fear  that  it 
will  be  less  candid  when  we  are  men.  I  have  had  no 
Dther  confidant  than  you,  and  I  dread  to  see  you  grow  old, 
for  fear  that  a  man's  cares  will  cause  you  to  forget  our 
boyish  friendship." 

"  No  fear  of  that,"  he  said,  after  he  had  studied  awhile, 
as  if  turning  it  all  over  in  his  mind.  "  No  fear  of  that. 
I  shall  never  grow  too  old  to  confide  my  sorrows  ^'f  I 
have  them)  and  successes  to  you.  However  poorly  a 
man  is  raised,  he  always  has  a  pleasant  recollection  of  hi* 
youth.  It  may  be  only  the  hut  in  which  he  was  born, 
but  there  is  always  something,  and  you  are  the  one 
pleasant  recollection  of  my  boyhood.  If  I  had  a  great 
trouble,  I  should  come  to  you  with  it ;  not  for  help,  per 
haps,  but  for  your  honest  sympathy,  and  for  the  satis 
faction  of  talking  it  over  freely.  So  long  as  I  confess 
nothing  to  you,  you  may  rest  assured  that  I  am  very 
happy.  I  don't  feel  right  just  now,  some  way,  and  I  can 
see  that  you  don't ;  but  T  hope  we  shall  get  on  better 
later  in  the  day.  I  am  very  sorry,  but  for  some  reason 
the  occasion  does  not  promise  to  be  what  I  expected. 
Probably  one  reason  is  that  I  have  done  a  very  mean 
thing  to-day,  and  when  you  discover  it,  as  you  are  sure  to 
do,  remember  that  I  have  confessed  my  humiliation,  and 
gay  nothing  about  it." 

I  had  no  idea  what  it  was,  but  as  he  said  I  should  dis 
cover  it,  I  did  not  press  him  further. 

"  It  is  very  curious,"  Jo  said,  in  a  confidential  and  per 
plexed  way,  "  but  the  nearer  my  marriage  approaches,  the 
less  important  it  seems ;  I  wonder  that  I  am  so  cool  over  it. 
You  remember  what  I  said  to  you  once  about  it  —  that  I 
tfould  sell  myself  to  the  Devil  to  be  married  to  Mateel ; 
THEN,  not  to  wait  a  minute.  I  felt  what  I  said,  but  th« 


216  THE  STORY  OF  A   COUNTRY  TOWN. 

years  of  waiting  have  made  a  great  change  in  me.  Not 
that  I  am  less  fond  of  her,  but  I  do  not  feel  now  about  it 
as  I  did  the  night  we  rode  to  Barker's  the  first  year  ol 
my  apprenticeship.  It  was  never  intended,  perhaps,  for 
anyone  to  be  as  happy  as  I  should  have  been  had  my 
marriage  to  Mateel  that  night  b^en  possible.  Somehow 
we  always  have  to  wait  until  the  pleasure  of  an  event  is 
blunted  by  familiarity.  Imperceptibly,  as  she  became  a 
possibility,  I  made  the  discovery  that  she  is  not  an  angel 
—  she  would  be  an  angel,  I  have  no  doubt,  were  such  a 
thing  possible — for  angels  do  not  live  in  the  woods,  and 
they  do  not  marry  millers." 

He  tried  very  hard  to  be  cheerful,  but  he  could  not, 
and  when  he  spoke  I  thought  it  was  an  apology  for  his 
troubled  face :  — 

"  I  am  very  tired  of  late,  for  I  have  worked  almost 
night  and  day  for  four  years,  and  I  hope  you  will  excuse 
me  if  I  do  not  seem  glad  to  see  you,  for  I  am;  though  just 
at  present,  for  some  unaccountable  reason,  I  am  unable  to 
show  it.  I  am  sure  I  shall  perceptibly  revive  by  reason 
of  your  being  here,  but  the  mill  undertaking  was  a  big 
one,  though  I  shall  speedily  recover,  now  that  I  have 
more  ease.  I  can't  just  explain  myself  how  it  is,  but  I 
hope  you  will  believe  I  am  still  Jo  Erring,  and  still 
regard  you  as  my  best  friend." 

I  made  some  sort  of  an  answer,  and  we  went  into  the 
house  soon  after,  both  of  us  more  than  ever  convinced 
that  something  was  wrong,  though  we  could  not  tell  what 
it  was.  Jo  immediately  disappeared  into  another  room, 
leaving  me  alone  until  Mr.  Shepherd  came  in,  who,  al« 
though  he  seemed  glad  to  see  me,  was  in  such  great  excite 
ment  that  he  had  not  time  to  express  it. 

"  You  will  excuse  me  if  I  am  not  myself,"  he  said,  ai 
fcc  walked  about,  putting  his  hands  to  his  head  as  thouga 


THE  WEDDING.  217 

It  pained  him,  a  habit  I  ^ad  noticed  before.  u  While  I 
approve  of  this  marriage,  our  only  child  leaves  us  to-day, 
and  we  cannot  feel  very  gay  about  it.  She  has  hardly 
been  out  of  our  sight  since  she  was  born,  and  so  far  from 
feeling  gay,  we  are  uncomfortable,  although  we  have  no 
objection  to  her  husband.  It  distresses  her  poor  mother 
more  than  it  does  me  ;  I  fear  it  will  be  like  a  funeral.  I 
Dope  Jo  will  not  mind  if  she  breaks  down  entirely.  I  had 
been  hoping  we  should  be  very  happy  to-day,  but  I  have 
lost  all  hope  of  it." 

As  Mr.  Shepherd  walked  rapidly  round  the  room  with  his 
head  down,  he  almost  ran  into  a  door  as  it  opened  to  admit 
his  respectable  wife,  followed  by  Agnes.  Mrs.  Shepherd 
bowed  to  me  stiffly,  and,  walking  across  the  room,  seated 
herself.  I  had  a  vague  sort  of  notion  that  Mrs.  Shepherd, 
hearing  of  my  arrival,  had  come  in  to  pay  her  respects, 
and  such  a  long  and  awkward  silence  followed  that  I  be 
gan  to  upbraid  myself  that,  as  a  young  man  of  the  world, 
I  should  say  something  suitable.  While  debating  between 
a  joke  and  an  observation  on  the  weather,  however,  the 
door  opened  again,  and  Jo  and  Mateel  stood  before  me. 
Jo  wore  the  suit  in  which  he  had  met  me  at  the  gate,  with 
the  addition  of  gloves,  and  Mateel  was  arrayed  as  became 
a  bride.  Both  looked  brave  and  handsome,  and  while 
admiring  them,  and  wondering  what  I  had  better  do  (I 
was  impressed  with  my  importance  there,  someway,  but 
waa  not  certain  how),  Mr.  Shepherd  got  up  from  his  chair, 
and,  standing  before  them,  pronounced  the  simple  marriage 
ceremony  common  in  that  day,  in  a  low  and  faltering 
Toice.  Then  we  all  knelt,  and  the  good  man  earnestly 
&nd  tenderly  invoked  the  blessing  of  God  on  the  union. 
By  the  time  Mr.  Shepherd  had  risen  to  his  feet  again,  hii 
irife  was  beside  him,  and,  throwing  her  arms  about  Mateel, 
kissed  her  over  and  over  again,  and  asked  her  not  to  cry, 


218  THE  8TOEY  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

AS  she  had  shown  evidences  of  doing.  Somehow  I  though! 
they  had  agreed,  as  though  it  were  brave,  not  to  humiliate 
ray  worthy  friend  by  creating  a  scene,  and  I  wondered 
that  they  consented  to  the  marriage  at  all  if  they  did  not 
approve  of  it.  I  had  never  been  entirely  cured  of  a  di* 
like  for  Mrs.  Shepherd,  and  it  came  upon  me  with  re- 
newed  force  that  day,  for  I  thought  she  had  every  reason 
to  feel  gratif  ed  at  the  marriage,  instead  of  sorrowful,  for 
Jo  was  much  the  better  one  of  the  two ;  any  unprejudiced 
person  would  have  said  so.  She  paid  not  the  slightest 
attention  to  Jo,  and  I  was  glad  when  Mr.  Shepherd  came 
up  and  shook  him  by  the  hand,  with  appropriate  words  of 
congratulation,  after  which  Agnes  touched  me  on  the 
arm,  and  we  went  up  with  our  greetings.  When  I  took 
Mateel  by  the  hand  Jo  said  for  me  to  kiss  her  (which  I 
did  very  awkwardly,  I  am  afraid)  ;  then  Agnes  kissed  Jo, 
and  we  were  all  very  happy  together.  Some  one  brought 
up  chairs,  and  Jo  and  Mateel  sat  down,  and  when  I  looked 
around  Mr.  Shepherd  and  his  wife  were  gone. 

After  Jo  and  his  bride  had  taken  a  long  breath,  and 
were  themselves  again,  we  four  spent  a  very  uncomfort 
able  half  hour  together,  for  each  one  seemed  to  feel  that 
the  others  were  not  at  ease.  I  had  thought  Jo's  wedding 
would  be  a  merry  event,  but  it  was  not,  though  I  never 
Vnew  exactly  why. 

I  noticed  while  we  sat  there  that  Mateel  did  not  regain 
her  accustomed  color,  but  remained  very  pale,  from  which 
I  imagined  her  health  was  failing,  for  she  had  always 
been  delicate.  The  costly  finery  which  she  wore,  though 
in  good  taste,  made  her  look  ghastly,  and  I  was  compelled 
to  admit  that  she  had  never  appeared  to  a  worse  advan 
tage.  Her  cheeks  were  sunken,  and  her  form  wasted,  and 
ih«  teemed  entirely  too  old  for  the  fresh  young  man  by 
her  side.  I  imagined  that  Jo  thought,  of  this,  too,  an«i 
regretted  the  was  not  more  girlish. 


BEGRET8.  21? 

When  dinner  was  ready,  I  noticed  that  plates  were 
laid  for  several  guests  besides  Agnes  and  myself,  as  il 
they  expected  that  more  of  Jo's  friends  would  be  present, 
whereupon  it  occurred  to  me  to  apologize  that  my  mother 
was  ill,  and  had  sent  her  regrets. 

"  The  regrets  are  accepted,"  Jo  said,  as  though  otheri 
had  been  sent.  "We  could  not  have  a  more  cheerful 
company  than  this.  So  far  as  I  am  concerned,  the  com 
pany  is  satisfactory." 

Mateel  expressed  some  such  sentiment,  and  so  did  we 
ail. 

"  But  I  wonder  Clinton  Bragg  is  not  here,"  I  said.  "  I 
met  him  on  the  road,  and  I  am  certain  he  was  dressed  for 
a  wedding." 

I  immediately  regretted  saying  it,  for  I  thought  that 
both  Mateel  and  Jo  colored  at  the  mention  of  his  name, 
but  after  some  hesitation,  Mateel  said  : 

"  He  was  not  expected." 

At  this  moment  Mr.  Shepherd  excused  himself  to 
answer  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  when  he  came  back  he 
said  that  it  was  Clinton  Bragg,  who  had  stopped  in  on  a 
trifling  errand,  and  who  had  gone  away  again.  I  was  not 
surprised  that  the  fellow  appeared  at  the  house  on  that 
day,  for  he  was  always  where  he  was  not  wanted,  but  1 
wondered  he  had  not  accepted  the  invitation  to  dinner, 
which  Mr.  Shspherd  said  he  had  given.  It  would  have 
keen  a  splendid  opportunity  to  make  himself  disagreeable. 

All  of  them  seemed  to  be  in  a  worse  humor  after  this, 
wid  they  had  not  been  merry  before.  Mateel  got  up 
from  the  table  soon  after,  and  insisted  on  helping  her 
mother,  which  example  was  followed  by  Agnes,  and  fin- 
tlly  by  Mr.  Shepherd,  who  went  to  do  some  sort,  of  carv 
ing,  leaving  Jo  and  me  alone.  The  dinner  was  an  elaborate 
one,  and  the  table  set  for  at  least  twenty,  so  that  we  fell 


220  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

lost  in  the  desert  of  dishes.  Some  of  them  tried  to  b€ 
^ay  at  the  circumstance  of  our  being  alone  at  the  table, 
and  they  helped  us  very  liberally,  but  it  was  a  failure, 
and  the  time  passed  very  dismally.  I  believe  that  Jo  felt 
guilty  that  more  of  his  friends  were  not  present,  —  01 
rather  that  he  had  but  two  to  invite,  —  and  I  knew  that 
I  felt  very  awkward  in  being  the  groom's  only  satellite, 
since  he  had  lived  in  the  neighborhood  all  his  life  ;  and, 
though  I  attempted  pleasantries  in  great  number,  either 
they  were  not  heard  or  not  appreciated,  so  that  the  dinner 
was  very  much  of  a  failure,  as  Jo  whispered  to  me  as  we 
gat  at  one  end  of  the  long  table  together. 

When  I  went  into  the  other  room,  dinner  being  over  at 
last,  I  found  a  letter  lying  on  the  table  addressed  in  a 
neat  hand  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Goode  Shepherd,  and,  knowing 
it  was  public,  I  opened  and  read  a  well-worded  note  of 
regret  from  my  grandmother.  As  she  could  not  write  I 
knew  what  Jo  meant  when  he  said  I  would  that  day 
detect  him  in  a  mean  action ;  he  had  written  it  himself. 

In  order  to  avoid  the  leave-taking,  and  because  I  was 
uncomfortable  at  the  Shepherds'  house,  I  drove  over  to 
the  mill  with  Agnes  in  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  where 
we  spent  several  hours  in  putting  the  house  in  order  for 
the  coming  of  Jo  and  Mateel.  I  had  not  been  in  the 
house  since  it  was  remodelled,  and  was  pleasantly  sur 
prised  at  its  arrangement.  The  old  house  had  but  two 
rooms,  but  Jo  had  added  two  others,  and  furnished  them 
naatly  and  comfortably  and  in  good  taste.  The  room  in 
front  was  transformed  into  a  pretty  parlor,  and  opening 
off  this  was  a  sleeping  apartment.  The  old  kitchen  re. 
mained,  but  I  would  not  have  known  it,  so  great  was 
the  change,  and  adjoining  it,  and  connecting  with  th« 
parlor,  was  a  dining-room,  which  completed  the  number 


TAKING  HOME  THE  BRIDE.  221 

Agnes  admired  the  house  as  much  as  I  did,  and  compli 
dented  Jo  so  much  that  I  regretted  I  had  not  expended 
my  energies  on  one  like  it.  I  think  I  resolved  to  look 
about  when  I  returned  to  town  for  an  old  house,  and  fit 
it  up  by  degrees,  but  I  have  no  doubt  I  forgot  it  entirely 
within  an  hour. 

The  mill  had  been  completed  a  month  before,  and  had 
been  in  successful  operation  since.  I  can  only  remember 
now  that  it  was  a  very  good  one  for  that  day,  and  that  it  was 
an  improvement  on  the  one  belonging  to  Damon  Barker, 
for  its  machinery  was  of  late  and  improved  make.  Jo 
had  never  told  me,  but  I  believed  he  was  greatly  in  debt, 
for  hi  addition  to  the  amount  due  on  the  machinery  he 
had  rebuilt  and  furnished  the  house  where  he  was  to  live, 
therefore  I  was  not  surprised  to  find  the  mill  in  full 
operation  in  charge  of  his  assistant,  as  that  was  a  busy 
season.  Agnes  and  I  went  through  it  after  we  had 
finished  at  the  house,  from  the  great  wheels  in  the  cellar 
to  the  small  ones  in  the  roof,  and  complimented  Jo  so 
much  that  his  ears  certainly  tingled. 

Jo  and  Mateel  did  not  arrive  until  after  dark,  and  we 
•lad  the  lights  and  fires  burning  when  they  came  in.  After 
Laying  off  her  wraps  Mateel  looked  around  the  pleasant 
••ooni,  but  did  not  say  anything,  seeming  sick  and  dis 
tressed,  and  when  she  went  with  us  through  the  rooms, 
A-gnes  carrying  the  light,  she  only  said  "Yes"  when 
aoine  one  remarked  that  this  or  that  was  pretty,  or  "  ~No " 
when  _t  was  said  that  something  else  could  not  be  nicer. 
I  thought  that  Jo  was  very  much  hurt  at  this,  for  she 
icemed  to  take  everything  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  the 
onh-  words  she  spoke  were  as  to  what  should  have  been  done 
rather  than  as  referring  to  what  had  been  done  already, 
which  was  a  great  deal,  for  the  house  was  better  furnished 
and  more  complete  in  every  way  than  the  one  in  wbicb 


222  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

ghe  had  lived.  I  thought  at  first  that  she  wa«  thinking 
the  arrangements  for  her  comfort  were  no  more  than  she 
deserved,  if  as  much,  but  I  concluded  later  in  the  evening 
that  she  was  not  herself,  and  that  the  parting  with  her 
mother  had  been  a  great  trial,  although  I  could  not  under 
stand  why,  for  they  were  separated  only  by  a  few  miles, 
and  could  see  each  other  every  day. 

We  had  been  sitting  about  the  fire  for  an  hour  or  more, 
where  we  seemed  to  get  along  better  than  at  any  other 
time  during  the  day,  when  a  rap  came  at  the  door,  and, 
on  its  being  opened  by  Jo,  Damon  Barker  walked  in.  We 
were  all  very  much  delighted  and  surprised  to  see  him, 
and  after  saluting  Jo  and  his  wife  with  a  polite  word  of 
congratulation,  he  took  the  chair  Agnes  brought  up,  and 
sat  down  in  the  circle. 

"I  could  not  come  over  very  well  to-day,"  he  said, 
speaking  to  Mateel,  "so  I  came  to-night.  I  thought  I 
knew  who  would  be  here  beside  yourselves,"  looking  at 
Agnes,  and  then  at  me,  "and  I  find  the  company  I  had 
expected.  I  wish  you  all  a  merry  Christmas." 

We  had  not  thought  of  it  before,  having  been  occupied 
with  the  events  of  the  day,  but  Barker  suggested  it  by 
taking  a  number  of  packages  from  his  pockets,  which  he 
leaned  against  the  legs  of  his  chair.  After  we  had  returned 
his  compliment,  he  said  :  — 

"  I  am  not  fond  of  ceremonies  of  any  kind,  but  1  am 
fond  of  a  fire  like  this  on  Christmas  Eve,  and  a  company 
like  this,  so  I  came  unannounced.  I  hope  you  are  glad  to 
toe  me." 

We  all  announced  in  a  chorus  that  we  were. 

*It  is  very  polite  in  you  to  say  so,"  Barker  replied. 
*  I  lead  a  lonely  life  over  there,"  pointing  in  the  directior 
0f  his  mill  with  the  hand  in  which  he  held  another  packagf 
from  his  pocket,  looking  very  much  like  a  long  bottli 


THE  PAETY  AT  JO'S.  228 

in-apped  in  brown  paper,  "though  probably  no  lonelier 
than  I  desire.  Jo  and  I  became  very  good  friends  whea 
wre  were  in  solitude  together,  and  I  think  I  could  not  have 
rested  to-night  had  I  not  walked  over  to  congratulate  him 
and  his  pretty  bride." 

He  settled  down  in  his  chair  and  looked  around  the 
room  as  if  admiring  it. 

"  It  has  been  a  long  time  since  I  felt  so  much  at  home 
as  I  do  at  this  moment."  Having  put  down  the  package 
which  looked  like  a  bottle,  he  picked  up  another  one  and 
commenced  unwrapping  it,  but  soon  stopped,  and  con 
tinued  talking,  leaving  us  to  wonder  what  it  contained. 
"  I  hope  my  presence  will  not  interfere  with  your  enjoy 
ment.  Let  me  sit  here  in  the  corner  and  look  at  you, 
without  being  in  the  way."  He  began  unwrapping  the 
package  again,  but  forgot  it  as  he  became  more  interested. 
"  I  enjoy  looking  at  fresh  young  faces,  and  it  is  not  often 
I  have  the  opportunity.  I  beg  that  you  go  on  with  the 
conversation  —  I  warrant  it  was  a  merry  one  —  in  progress 
when  I  disturbed  you  by  rapping.  Don't  mind  me  at  all, 
tut  if  you  should  address  me  occasionally,  and  intimate 
that  I  had  added  something  to  the  occasion,  I  should 
enjoy  myself  very  much  indeed." 

By  this  tune  the  package  was  unwrapped,  and  it  turned 

out  to  be  a  handsome  jewel  case,  with  a  set  of  expensive 

ewelry  on  the  inside.     This  he  handed  to  Mateel  with  a 

bow,  and,  picking  up  another  package,  went  on  with  his 

talking  and  unwrapping :  — 

"  For  twelve  years  I  have  been  almost  a  hermit  here  in 
ihe  woods,  and  during  all  that  time  I  have  not  met  so 
pleasant  a  company  as  this.  I  never  felt  more  welcome 
in  my  life,  whether  I  am  or  not,  and  I  have  an  idea  that 
I  feel  very  much  as  the  rest  of  you  do  —  comfortable  and 
kappy," 


224  THE  STOEY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN 

By  this  time  the  other  package  came  out,  and  it  was  M 
tnuch  like  the  first  one  that  we  could  not  tell  them  apart, 
This  he  gave  to  Agnes,  who  was  greatly  surprised,  and 
she  hesitated  hi  taking  it,  but  he  did  not  notice  her,  and, 
diving  down  beside  his  chair,  handed  the  bottle-looking 
package  to  me,  and  its  mate  to  Jo,  retaining  another  one 
of  the  same  pattern  for  himself. 

"These  three  contain  liquor  so  old  that  I  feel  quite 
yourg  in  their  company,"  he  said,  without  noticing  the 
surprise  which  his  presents  to  Mateel  and  Agnes  had 
created,  for  they  were  very  valuable,  "and  combined  and 
stirred  with  a  little  hot  water,  a  little  sugar,  a  few  slices 
of  lemon,  and  nutmeg,  they  make  a  punch  very  fit  and 
appropriate  for  a  party  of  five.  If  you  have  a  bowl 
handy,  I  will  stir  them  together." 

As  he  said  this,  he  got  up  from  his  chair,  and  began 
preparations  for  the  punch  by  taking  from  the  pockets  of 
the  coat  he  had  laid  off  a  bag  of  lemons  and  a  corkscrew. 
Jo  and  I  went  out  and  lighted  the  fire  for  the  hot  water, 
and  while  we  were  waiting  for  it  we  heard  Barker  asking 
as  a  favor  that  nothing  more  be  said  about  the  presents. 

Conscious  that  the  wedding  was  ending  better  than  it 
had  commenced,  Jo  and  I  shook  hands  over  the  circum 
stance,  and  we  soon  had  the  kitchen  fire  roaring,  and  the 
water  hot,  and  taking  it  into  the  front  room,  Barker  had 
the  bottles  opened,  and  the  lemons  sliced,  and,  the  sugar 
and  nutmeg  being  brought,  the  punch  was  soon  ready, 
which  I  think  was  composed  of  champagne,  and  a  mixed 
liquor  made  for  that  purpose.  It  was  certainly  very  good, 
and  Jo  and  I  drank  of  it  very  liberally. 

I  had  never  seen  Barker  in  good  spirits  before,  and  it 
tras  not  long  before  all  of  us  caught  the  infection.  We 
not  only  drank  of  the  punch,  but  we  went  into  the  kitchen 
*nd  brought  out  something  to  eat,  and  after  this  the  good 


SPIRITUAL  COMFORT.  225 

humor  of  every  one  increased  so  much  that  it  was  agreed 
that  if  Barker  would  give  a  selection  from  a  play  with 
which  he  was  familiar  (and  which  he  did  remarkably  well), 
Jo  and  I  would  sing  camp-meeting  songs,  to  be  followed 
by  a  duet  by  Mateel  and  Agnes. 

While  these  arrangements  were  in  progress,  I  went  to 
the  door  to  see  how  the  weather  was,  as  I  had  a  long 
drive  before  me,  and  as  I  stood  there  I  saw  a  horseman 
pass  in  the  road,  who  I  was  certain  was  Clinton  Bragg. 
Those  on  the  inside  were  merrily  laughing,  and  I  pur 
posely  opened  the  door  that  he  might  hear  it,  and  know 
that  Mateel  and  Jo  were  happy,  and  surrounded  by 
friends.  I  thought  that  he  might  come  in  with  some 
kind  of  a  message  for  Mateel,  but  I  resolved  that  if  he 
attempted  it  I  would  knock  him  down  and  beat  him  at 
the  gate,  for  I  felt  the  punch,  and  was  in  a  humor  for  that 
kind  of  business.  But  he  rode  slowly  past,  and  I  am  cer 
tain  that  he  heard  the  gay  laughter,  and  that  no  one  knew 
of  his  presence  except  myself. 

Although  Barker  drank  as  freely  as  Jo  and  I,  he  was 
evidently  more  accustomed  to  it,  and  did  not  mind  it, 
though  it  had  no  other  effect  on  us  than  to  increase  our 
good  spirits.  Agnes  and  Mateel  partook  but  sparingly, 
but  they  were  both  in  better  humor  than  I  had  ever  seen 
them,  and  applauded  whatever  we  did.  Barker  gave  his 
nelection  from  the  play  (it  was  a  tragedy,  and  he  limped 
in  from  the  kitchen  saying  something  about  that  being 
the  winter  of  our  discontent),  after  which  Jo  and  T 
started  a  camp-meeting,  imitating  the  singing,  preaching, 
and  shouting  of  the  Fairview  people,  which  performance 
was  received  with  rounds  of  applause.  Mateel  and  Agnes 
then  sang  their  duet,  in  appreciation  of  which  we  clapped 
our  hands  until  they  sang  another  one ;  and  thus  the  tiro* 
passed  until  after  midnight. 


226  THE  STORY  OF  A  COHNTK*   TOWK. 

During  the  evening  Jo  found  opportunity  to  expreai 
his  pleasure  t^at  everything  had  turned  out  so  well,  and 
whenever  we  were  alone  I  think  both  of  us  had  a  good 
deal  to  say  about  an  "  Old  Boy,"  and  the  "  Best  friend 
in  the  world,"  for  we  lost  all  of  the  restraint  which  made 
us  so  uncomfortable  in  the  morning,  and  fully  renewed 
our  old  friendship. 

When  we  broke  up,  and  had  said  our  adieus  over  and 
over,  I  found  my  team  at  the  door,  through  the  kindness 
of  the  assistant  at  the  mill,  and  after  we  had  closed  the 
door  for  positively  the  last  tune,  we  opened  it  again  for 
another  kind  word,  and  were  very  merry  and  gay. 

There  was  a  light  fall  of  snow  on  the  ground,  and  the 
night  and  the  roads  being  fine,  I  insisted  on  taking  Barker 
in  the  buggy  and  driving  him  home,  knowing  the  horses 
would  enjoy  the  dash  along  the  level  roads  in  the  woods. 
He  at  first  objected,  but  Agnes  adding  her  entreaty,  he 
finally  consented,  and  after  calling  to  Jo  until  he  opened 
the  door  again,  we  waved  our  hands  once  more,  crossed 
the  creek  below  the  mill,  and  dashed  away. 

I  was  proud  of  the  speed  of  the  team,  and  Barker  was 
at  first  very  nervous  at  the  pace  at  which  I  drove,  but 
finding  I  was  a  careful  driver,  he  leaned  contentedly 
back,  and  repeatedly  said  the  drive  was  a  pleasant  ending 
to  the  agreeable  evening  at  Jo's  house.  When  we  arrived 
at  the  mill,  he  invited  us  in,  and  as  Agnes  had  never  been 
at  his  house,  and  had  often  expressed  a  curiosity  to  see  it, 
we  accepted  the  invitation,  though  it  was  two  or  three 
oTclock  in  the  morning.  As  I  expected,  there  was  still 
fire  in  the  great  box  stove  in  his  room,  for  it  seemed 
uever  to  go  out,  and  with  a  little  stirring  and  fuel  it 
*ras  soon  roaring.  We  walked  through  all  the  rooms, 
Barker  carrying  the  light,  and  appearing  to  be  pleased 
and  contented.  I  told  Agnes  of  the  delightful  storiei 


AN  EARLY  MORNING  DRIVE.  227 

Barker  had  related  to  Jo  and  me  in  the  big  room  with 
the  heavy  shutters,  and  even  insisted  that  he  tell  another 
one,  to  give  Agnes  an  idea  of  his  talent  in  that  direction, 
but  he  laughingly  replied  that  it  was  late,  and  that  they 
would  prove  very  dull,  now  that  we  were  older. 

"  I  have  another  story  to  tell  you,  though,"  he  said, 
after  some  reflection,  "  but  it  is  not  quite  ready,  and  as  it 
is  a  story  for  men,  it  is  fortunate  that  you  are  almost  a 
man.  In  good  time  I  will  tell  it  to  you,  and,  if  you 
choose,  you  may  repeat  it  to  Agnes." 

While  we  were  warming  ourselves  at  the  fire  for  com 
pleting  the  ride,  I  questioned  him  about  it,  but  it  seemed 
to  be  of  no  importance,  for  he  laughed  gayly,  and  would 
only  say  that  when  he  was  ready  he  would  remind  m«j 
of  it. 

After  spending  an  hour  there  we  started  for  Theodore 
Meek's  and  altnough  I  repeatedly  informed  Agnes  that 
she  was  the  best  and  prettiest  girl  in  the  world,  and  that  I 
was  very  much  in  love  with  her,  she  was  not  at  all 
serious,  seeming  to  regard  it  as  a  part  of  the  gayety  of 
the  night,  and  after  reaching  the  house,  and  having  a 
laugh  all  around  with  the  family  (who  got  up  to  hear 
about  the  wedding),  we  went  to  bed  just  ar  day  began  to 
ippear  ia  the  east. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE  PECULIARITIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

flpHERE  was  one  thing  I  noticed  of  Twin  Moundi 
-JL.  which  is  probably  true  of  every  other  country  town 
—it  was  constantly  threatened  either  with  great  prosperity 
or  great  danger,  but  whether  the  event  threatening  the 
prosperity  or  the  danger  came  to  pass,  the  town  pro 
gressed  about  the  same.  There  was  no  perceptible  effect 
from  any  of  the  events  the  people  were  certain  would 
prove  either  very  disastrous  or  of  great  benefit,  from 
which  I  am  led  to  believe  that  no  one  is  familiar  with  the 
art  of  town-building,  although  I  have  never  known  a  man 
who  did  not  profess  to  know  all  there  is  worth  knowing 
about  the  science.  Towns  seem  to  be  the  natural  accre 
tion  of  years,  and  although  the  people  in  Twin  Mounds 
often  related  how  desperate  were  their  struggles  with 
adversity,  the  facts  probably  are  that  the  place  would 
have  been  fully  as  large  as  it  was  three  years  after  Jo's 
marriage  without  the  great  number  of  public  meetings 
for  public  purposes,  and  the  endless  worry  of  individuals 
with  reference  to  it. 

There  was  a  very  general  impression  that  mantif  actoriec 
were  needed,  and  this  was  talked  about  so  much,  and  so 
many  inducements  were  offered,  that  the  people  became 
discouraged,  believing  that  the  average  manufacturer  had 
a  wicked  heart  and  a  hollow  head  to  thus  wrong  Twin 
Mounds  in  the  face  of  his  own  interest,  therefore  we  were 
rery  much  surprised  to  learn  once,  aftei  all  hope  had  been 


PBCTTIJLAKITIES   OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN.         229 

abandoned,  that  a  quiet  man  w  as  building  a  woollen  mill 
down  the  river,  which  he  completed  and  afterwards  oper 
ated  without  the  help  of  the  committees  which  had  been 
appointed  to  aid  in  such  matters  of  public  weal.  The 
trouble  was  that  the  man  lived  in  Twin  Mounds,  whereas 
we  had  been  expecting  a  man  and  money  to  come  from  a 
distant  point  for  that  purpose,  and  had  never  thought  of 
looking  about  home,  but  spent  a  great  deal  of  mo  ley  in 
sending  committees  away  to  make  arrangements  for  a 
woollen  mill.  This  circumstance,  although  humiliating, 
proved  a  good  thing,  for  it  taught  the  people  that,  if  the 
town  were  to  be  built  up  at  all,  it  must  be  by  its  own 
citizens,  which  knowledge  was  afterwards  used  to  good 
advantage. 

The  people  were  always  miserable  by  reason  of  predic 
tions  that,  unless  impossible  amounts  of  money  were  given 
to  certain  enterprises,  the  town  would  be  ruined,  and 
although  they  always  gave,  no  sooner  was  one  fund  ex 
hausted  than  it  became  necessary  to  raise  another.  It  was 
said  during  the  collection  of  each  amount  that  it  would 
never  be  necessary  again  to  give  to  this  sort  of  charity 
(as  the  enterprise  then  in  hand  would  insure  the  future 
of  Twin  Mounds),  but  there  was  never  an  end  to  the 
ridiculous  business,  and  we  were  always  in  a  state  of 
dreariness  on  this  account,  as  the  men  demanding  the  char 
ity  for  insignificant  enterprises  loudly  threatened  to  go  to 
the  rival  towns,  and  permit  the  grass  to  grow  in  our  streets. 
In  thinking  of  the  matter  since,  I  have  thov  ght  that  Twin 
Mounds  would  have  been  a  much  better  town  but  for  the 
fact  that  it  was  always  expecting  improbable  disaster,  but 
which  never  came,  for  the  people  were  thus  prevented 
from  exercising  their  energy,  if  they  had  any. 

I  never  formed  a  good  opinion  of  a  man  there  that  1 
Iran  not  finally  told  something  to  his  discredit  by  anothei 


230  TTTB  STORY  OF  A  COCJimiY  TOWN, 

citizen,  causing  me  to  regard  him  with  great  suspicion, 
and  if  I  said  a  good  word  for  any  of  them,  it  was  proved 
beyond  question  immediately  that  he  was  a  very  unscru 
pulous,  a  very  ridiculous,  a  very  weak,  and  a  very  worth 
less  man.  There  were  no  friendships  among  them,  and 
they  all  hated  each  other  in  secret,  there  being  much  quiet 
satisfaction  when  one  of  them  failed.  There  seemed  to  be 
no  regular  aristocracy,  either,  for  I  heard  so  frequently 
how  ignorant  and  awkward  the  prominent  citizens  were 
when  they  first  came,  that  I  finally  found  them  all  out. 
If  Dr.  Medicine  told  me  what  an  unpromising  lout 
the  present  magnificent  Honorable  Legal  was  when  he 
first  arrived,  and  how  much  difficulty  he  had  in  getting 
him  introduced  into  respectable  society,  I  was  certain  to 
meet  Honorable  Legal  soon  after,  and  hear  him  recite  a 
similar  experience  with  reference  to  Dr.  Medicine.  One 
of  the  stories,  and  I  found  afterwards  that  it  was  true,  was 
that  a  man  of  ordinary  worth,  who  seemed  to  be  prosper 
ous,  had  collected  his  money  of  a  railroad  company  in  the 
country  he  had  moved  from,  because  of  an  injury  to  his 
first  wife,  and  that  his  second  was  enabled  to  go  elegant- 
ij  dressed  because  of  the  misfortune  of  the  first.  Thus 
it  went  on  until  I  was  familiar  with  the  poor  origin  of  all 
of  them,  and  perhaps  this  was  one  reason  why  we  did  not 
respect  one  another  more. 

It  was  a  popular  expression  that  every  one  favorably 
mentioned  was  the  "  worst  overrated  man  in  America," 
and  the  only  real  ability  any  of  them  ever  displayed  was 
in  looking  up  the  previous  history  of  each  other,  which 
they  carried  on  with  great  vigor,  and  frequently  with 
alarming  results.  I  began  to  believe  in  course  of  time 
that  it  was  fortunate  that  the  discreditable  part  of  my 
history  was  well  known,  for  it  was  the  sooner  forgotten, 
it  was  not  necessarY  to  look  up  old  records  t* 


THE  TWIN  MOUNDS  MKfr.  231 

find  it  out,  aiid  thus  was  not  made  worse  than  it  really 

wag. 

Very  few  of  the  Twin  Mounds  men  had  po&itive 
opinions  of  their  own,  as  they  seemed  to  have  got  them 
second-handed  from  some  source,  and  none  of  them  was 
original  or  natural  in  his  methods  of  conducting  business, 
or  in  his  habits.  Two  or  three  times  a  year  most  of  them 
visited  a  city  a  good  many  miles  away,  where  they  spent 
a  great  deal  of  money  they  could  not  afford,  to  create  aa 
impression  that  they  were  accustomed  to  what  they  sup 
posed  was  good  society,  and  where  they  met  men  who 
filled  their  ideas  of  greatness.  These  they  mimicked, 
each  one  choosing  a  different  example ;  so  it  happened  that 
the  men  of  Twin  Mounds  were  very  ridiculous.  There 
was  a  lawyer,  I  remember,  who  had  met  somewhere  a  dis 
tinguished  member  of  his  profession,  who  shook  hands 
(Ho !  ho !)  with  everybody,  and  (Ha  i  ha !)  patronizingly 
wanted  to  know  how  they  were  getting  along.  It  was 
not  his  natural  way,  and  as  he  only  adopted  it  because  he 
believed  it  would  make  him  popular,  it  became  him  very 
poorly.  Perhaps  it  was  very  effective  with  the  man  the 
habit  had  been  copied  from,  but  it  was  very  absurd  with 
our  citizen,  whose  pretence  was  that  every  man  he  shook 
hands  with  (and  he  shook  hands  cordially  with  everybody) 
was  not  getting  along  as  well  as  he  in  his  great  com 
passion  desired. 

Another  one,  who  carried  on  a  business  which  one  busy 
day  would  have  exhausted,  had  heard  of  a  man  who 
achieved  commercial  greatness  by  finding  fault  (I  am  sure 
the  man  was  mistaken,  for  no  one  ever  made  moDey  in 
such  a  ridiculous  way),  and  I  never  heard  of  anything 
that  suited  him.  This  he  regarded  as  business  shrewd 
ness,  and  he  finally  became  very  sour  in  disposition  be- 
he  waa  generally  regarded  as  a  fool  instead  of  f 


232  THE   STOKY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

prophet.  Still  another,  naturally  full  of  fool's  gab,  carried 
on  a  bank  in  awful  silence  because  he  had  heard  that  still 
water  runs  deep,  though  I  have  seen  ponds  of  perfectly 
Btill  water  which  were  very  shallow. 

As  I  grew  older,  and  began  to  notice  more,  I  thought 
that  every  man  in  Twin  Mounds  haa  reason  to  feel  humil 
iated  that  he  had  not  accomplished  more,  but  most  of 
them  were  as  conceited  as  though  there  was  nothing  left 
in  the  world  worthy  of  their  attention.  Their  small  busi 
ness  affairs,  their  quarrels  over  the  Bible,  and  an  occasional 
term  in  the  town  council,  or  a  mention  for  the  legislature 
or  a  county  office,  satisfied  them,  and  they  were  as  con 
tent  as  men  who  really  amounted  to  something. 

Although  I  believe  there  never  was  a  more  virtuous  com 
munity,  the  men  pretended  to  believe  that  their  associates 
were  great  libertines,  and  many  of  the  women  were  scan 
dalized  in  an  unjust  and  cruel  manner.  The  men  rather 
took  a  pride  in  reputations  of  this  sort,  for  they  never  had 
any  other,  and,  although  pretending  to  deny  it,  they  really 
hoped  the  people  would  continue  to  accuse  them.  I  have 
known  citizens  of  this  description  to  stay  out  late  at  night, 
and  take  aimless  rides  into  the  country,  to  create  the  im 
pression  that  they  were  having  clandestine  meetings  with 
the  first  ladies  of  the  town.  The  people  watched  each 
other  so  closely  that  there  was  no  opportunity  to  be  other 
than  honest  and  circumspect  in  this  particular,  even  if 
they  had  been  differently  inclined,  and  since  the  men  were 
ilways  looking  for  amours,  but  never  found  them,  and  be- 
Heved  that  others  were  notoriously  successful,  they  must 
ti&ve  had  a  very  contemptible  opinion  of  themselves  when 
they  thought  about  the  matter  candidly. 

I  often  heard  from  Jo,  and  frequently  met  him,  and  he 
always  seemed  to  be  hapry  and  prosperous.  The  debt  on 
the  mill  was  being  gradually  reduced  through  his  sturdj 


FORD  BRAND.  239 

efforts,  and  in  the  middle  of  the  second  year  of  his  mar 
riage,  he  had  built  an  addition  to  his  house  which  made  it 
very  complete.  His  business  was  prosperous,  because  he 
gave  it  a  great  deal  of  intelligent  attention,  and  he  became 
widely  known  as  one  of  the  promising  young  men  of  that 
part  of  the  country,  for  nobody  worked  so  hard  as  he  did, 
nor  to  so  much  purpose,  and  the  business  principles  he 
had  adopted  were  excellent.  The  product  of  his  mill  was 
called  the  "Erring's  Ford"  brand,  we  having  agreed  on 
the  name  together  because  it  was  odd,  and  because  it 
celebrated  a  hope  which  had  been  ridiculed  by  the  Fair- 
view  folks,  and  we  printed  large  bills  announcing  its 
superiority,  which  were  distributed  so  well  that  wherever 
I  went  I  was  reminded  of  my  skill  as  a  printer,  and  Jo's 
superiority  as  a  miller. 

At  long  intervals  he  came  to  our  house  with  his  pretty 
wife,  and  I  always  thought  they  were  very  happy,  as 
I  have  no  doubt  they  were.  I  do  not  remember  that  I 
thought  much  of  them  during  the  three  years  I  am  now 
passing  rapidly  over,  except  that  Jo  had  made  himself  the 
equal  of  his  wife,  which  was  a  pleasant  reflection  to  me 
because  he  had  begun  so  far  behind  her,  and  with  the 
utmost  friendship  for  Mateel,  I  was  always  pleased  when 
Jo  appeared  to  better  advantage  than  she  did,  or  when  I 
thought  that  if  a  stranger  should  judge  between  them,  the 
impression  would  be  that  Jo  was  the  superior  one  of  the 
two. 

I  had  the  impression  that  Jo  was  an  excellent  husband, 
for  he  was  always  thinking  of  what  would  please  Mateel, 
&nd  when  they  were  together  he  was  as  gentle  and  gallant 
as  he  had  been  when  they  were  lovers,  which  I  have  heard 
ia  very  unusual.  Mateel  was  a  good  wife,  but  I  do  not 
know  that  I  ever  heard  her  say  a  kind  word  for  her  hus 
band,  although  others  talked  about  him  a  great  deal.  She 


234  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

thought,  no  doubt,  that  his  excellences  were  understood 
and  did  not  need  to  be  mentioned.  I  thought  of  this  cir 
cumstance  then,  because  I  believed  it  would  have  been 
no  more  than  natural  for  her  to  say  that  Jo  had  succeeded 
well,  or  that  he  had  bravely  won  her,  but  she  never  did, 
although  she  seemed  pleased  when  I  complimented  hei 
husband,  as  though  it  was  an  expression  of  a  hope  that  il 
he  were  not  so  rich  then  as  she  desired,  he  mignt  be  in 
the  future. 

Usually  when  Jo  and  Mateel  came  to  Twin  Mounds, 
Agnes  came  with  them,  as  it  was  then*  custom  to  drive 
over  on  Saturday,  and  back  in  the  evening  of  the  next 
day,  and  with  so  many  of  her  old  friends  around  her,  my 
mother  perceptibly  revived,  but  when  they  had  gone 
away,  she  resumed  her  old  melancholy,  and  pined  away 
in  the  room  where  she  watched  at  night.  If  they  offered 
to  take  her  home  with  them,  she  refused,  and  never  went 
out,  except  occasionally  to  ride  with  me,  and  then  I 
thought  it  was  more  to  admire  the  speed  of  "Dan"  and 
"  Dave  "  than  because  she  cared  to  leave  the  house. 

Although  the  Rev.  John  Westlock  was  never  heard  of. 
the  light  was  always  burning  in  his  old  room  at  night,  and 
his  deserted  wife  was  always  waiting  to  forgive  him.  I 
think  she  never  for  a  moment  gave  up  the  hope  that  he 
would  come  back ;  for,  winter  and  summer  alike,  she  waited 
for  him  eveiy  night,  and  was  weaker  the  next  day  because 
he  did  not  come.  The  fear  began  to  oppress  me  that 
BOine  morning  we  should  find  her  dead  at  her  post,  and  I 
proposed  to  get  some  one  to  stay  with  her  at  night,  but 
ihe  would  not  hear  of  it,  thinking,  no  doubt,  that  when 
he  came  he  would  much  prefer  to  find  her  alone.  Thus 
the  months  went  by,  and  at  the  close  of  every  one  I  found 
•hat  her  head  was  whiter  and  her  step  more  feeble. 

I  ia.w  Lytle  Biggs  nearly  every  week,  and  Big  Adam 


THE  FELLOW  AGAIN.  235 

*ften  came  there  with  products  of  the  farm  to  sell,  and  he 
always  came  in  to  see  me,  usually  having  the  information 
to  impart  that  another  relative  had  been  killed  by  the 
Indians,  or  that  his  old  mistress  "jawed"  him  more  than 
ever.  If  he  found  it  necessary  to  stay  in  the  town  ovei 
night,  which  was  sometimes  the  case,  I  took  him  home 
with  me,  and  treated  him  with  so  much  consideration  in 
other  ways  that  ne  soon  became  my  greatest  friend. 

From  him  I  learned  that  Agnes  only  came  home  during 
the  two  vacations  of  the  year,  and  that  her  mother  was 
about  the  same  with  respect  to  visions  of  poisoning  and 
smothering,  which  humiliated  them  all  very  much  except 
Big  Adam,  who  said  he  considered  it  an  honor  for  the 
people  to  believe  that  he  would  poison  his  mistress  if  he 
had  opportunity,  for  they  all  knew  she  deserved  it.  Mrs. 
Biggs  and  the  children  had  changed  but  little,  except  that 
the  children  had  grown  larger  and  more  unruly,  and  their 
mother  more  shrivelled  than  formerly.  Big  Adam  was 
quite  a  novelty  in  Twin  Mounds,  by  reason  of  his  great 
size  and  hoarse  voice,  and  a  crowd  always  gathered  at 
the  office  when  he  was  there  in  the  evening,  to  hear  him 
tell  about  the  great  farm  he  was  expected  to  cultivate 
alone. 

Although  I  was  always  hoping  he  would  kill  himself 
with  dissipation,  Clinton  Bragg  continued  to  be  only 
about  as  worthless  as  when  I  had  first  known  him,  and 
there  was  no  change  in  his  manner  except  that  he  made 
ip  with  every  old  wreck  who  came  to  town,  and  induced 
him  by  treats  to  listen  to  his  brags  about  himself.  Bragg 
came  from  a  place  somewhere  in  the  East  which  waa 
given  over  to  the  manufacture  of  knives  and  forks,  and 
the  three  or  four  proprietors  of  the  works  comprised  the 
aristocracy.  These,  lacking  better  company,  associated 
•ccasionally  with  the  small  tradesmen  and  professional 


236  THE  STORY  OF  A   COUNTRY  TOWN. 

men  of  the  town,  which  led  them  to  talk  a  great  deal  of 
the  excellent  society  in  which  they  moved,  and  judging 
them  by  their  representative  in  Twin  Mounds,  they  be- 
c&me  very  unpopular  wherever  they  went,  by  reason  oi 
this  unpleasant  egotism.  His  father,  a  hard-working  but 
ignorant  man,  by  close  attention  to  the  business  of  keeping 
a  keg  house,  had  risen  to  the  dignity  of  a  merchant,  and 
was  reputed  to  be  well-to-do,  although,  as  is  usually  the 
case,  I  doubt  if  he  had  half  the  money  with  which  he  wa« 
credited. 

Bragg  considered  this  fork-making  community  as  the 
greatest  the  world  had  ever  produced,  and  made  himself 
very  disagreeable  in  talking  about  it.  Being  a  great  liar 
naturally,  and  as  no  one  in  Twin  Mounds  knew  differently, 
he  used  a  citizen  of  the  town  where  he  had  lived  to  tra 
duce  citizens  of  Twin  Mounds,  and  if  a  lawyer  lost  a  case, 
or  won  it,  he  told  cheerful  anecdotes  of  his  brilliant  friend 
Bighead,  the  leader  of  his  profession  in  Forkston.  No 
difference  what  happened  in  Twin  Mounds,  it  reminded 
him  of  a  friend  of  his  in  the  town  where  knives  were 
made,  who  always  did  whatever  was  in  hand  in  a  much 
more  creditable  manner. 

When  he  was  drinking,  he  went  about  inquiring  who 
Alexander  Bighead  was,  who  Cornelius  Deadhead  was, 
who  Elwyn  Flathead  was,  who  Godfrey  Hardhead  was, 
or  who  Isaac  Jughead  was.  Nobody  being  able  to  inform 
him  (none  of  them  having  ever  been  heard  of  outside  of 
the  community  where  they  lived),  Bragg  would  answer 
that  Alexander  Bighead  was  a  great  lawyer  and  a  great 
drunkard,  and  that  Cornelius  Deadhead  was  as  noted  for 
his  knowledge  of  medicine  as  he  was  noted  for  his  intern 
perance ;  that  Elwyn  Flathead  was  a  heavy  trader,  and  a 
heavy  drinker;  that  Godfrey  Hardhead  was  frequently 
on  the  public  platform,  and  frequently  in  the  gutter ;  and 


MOKE  PHILOSOPHY.  287 

tl  at  Isaac  Jughoad  was  as  often  on  a  spree  as  he  wan  on 
the  bench ;  which  argument  was  intended  to  convey  the 
Impression  that  all  talented  men  (Clinton  Bragg  included) 
d  rank  more  than  was  good  for  them. 

Lytle  Biggs,  being  a  professional  politician,  was  often  in 
town,  and  as  has  been  the  case  when  he  first  met  me,  he 
was  of  the  opinion  that  while  I  was  a  little  delicate  in 
asking  him  for  the  favor,  I  was  burning  with  impatience 
to  hear  more  of  Lis  philosophy.  I  had  enjoyed  it  very 
much  at  first,  and  laughed  a  great  deal  at  his  oddities, 
and  though  it  finally  grew  tiresome,  I  could  not  very  well 
flatly  tell  him  so.  Hence  he  came  in  frequently  when  I 
was  very  busy,  and  when  I  knew  he  was  not  in  a  phil 
osophical  humor,  but  reasoning  that  I  had  grown  to 
expect  it,  and  had  little  other  amusement,  he  consented  to 
favor  me  with  a  few  of  his  thoughts.  Thus  it  came  about 
that  he  walked  in  one  evening  when  I  was  anxious  to  go 
home,  and,  seating  himself,  prepared  to  spend  several 
hours  with  me,  though  I  could  see  he  regarded  himself  as 
a  martyr  to  be  compelled  to  instruct  me  in  ordinary  affair* 
which  should  be  understood  at  a  glance. 

"  Speaking  of  the  newspaper  business,"  he  said,  of 
which  we  were  not  speaking  at  all,  "  I  make  considerable 
money  advising  the  farmers  to  patronize  the  <  Rural 
Home,'  than  which,  in  my  opinion,  a  greater  literary 
t.hug  never  existed,  but  unfortunately  for  an  oppressed 
people,  the  publisher  of  the  c  Home  '  (his  name  is  latch  ; 
it  should  be  Leech)  pays  liberal  commissions,  and  I  must 
live.  I  have  a  copy  in  lay  pocket;  you  may  examine  it 
rhan  there  is  positively  nothing  else  to  do." 

He  handed  it  to  me,  and  although  it  was  folded,  I  saw 
on  the  first  page  a  picture  of  an  animal  so  admirably  pro 
portioned  that  but  little  was  wasted  in  legs,  being  solid 
toeat  with  the  exception  of  a  small  head  and  four  pins  w 


238  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTS 

hold  it  ip.  By  examining  the  note  at  the  bottom,  I  found 
it  was  a  pig,  although  I  should  not  have  suspected  it  in 
the  absence  of  the  statement,  and  that  pairs  of  the  treed 
could  be  had  by  addressing  the  publisher,  and  enclosing 
money  order  or  draft  for  fifty  dollars. 

"  If  you  should  do  yourself  the  injustice  at  some  tim« 
in  the  future  to  look  it  over,"  Mr.  Biggs  continued,  indi 
cating  that  I  was  not  to  look  at  it  then,  but  to  listen, 
u  you  would  find  it  filled  with  all  sorts  of  ingenious  ap 
peals  for  the  farmer's  money,  and  that  the  editor  claims 
to  be  poor,  but  honest,  and  oppressed  by  monopolies,  like 
the  rest  of  them.  But  what  are  the  hard,  uncomfortable 
facts?" 

I  looked  at  him  as  if  to  say  that  I  did  not  know  what 
the  facts  were,  but  had  no  doubt  they  were  bad  enough. 

"The  facts  are  that  while  the  agricultural  population 
is  cooped  up  in  hot  school-houses  drinking  spring  water, 
and  attending  Alliance  meetings,  the  publisher  of  the 
'  Rural '  is  holding  ice  in  his  mouth  at  an  elegant  club, 
only  changing  this  delightful  occupation  to  gulp  down 
expensive  champagne.  He  lives  in  a  villa,  does  this  agri 
cultural  fraud  of  the  name  of  Litch,  and  makes  a  fortune 
every  year;  and,  although  he  earnestly  advises  the  far 
mers'  wives  and  daughters  to  spend  their  spare  time  in 
churning  the  butter  and  gathering  the  eggs,  to  buy  good 
books  to  improve  themselves  (P.  S. — For  which  he  is 
tgent),  he  sends  his  own  wife  and  daughters  to  spend 
meir  spare  time  in  summer  at  cool  places,  where  they 
may  swim  in  the  sea.  That 's  the  kind  of  an  oppressed 
citizen  of  a  groaning  government  Litch  is,  and  I  happen 
to  know  that  he  is  the  friend  of  the  monopolists  he  de» 
nounces,  and  that  he  is  in  their  pay ;  that  he  is  the  tool 
of  the  thieves  who  manufacture  worthless  machinery  foi 
farmers ;  of  the  confidence  men  who  advertise  eggs,  pigs 


PHILANTHROPIST  OB  SCOUNDREL.  239 

And  calves  at  a  high  price,  and  that  he  is  the  worst  enemy 
of  the  farmers  generally." 

I  pretended  to  be  very  much  surprised  at  this,  though 
[  was  not. 

"  If  you  should  be  caught  in  a  lonely  place  on  a  rainy 
day,  with  no  other  paper  in  your  pocket  than  that,  you 
would  find  a  column  of  inquiries  with  reference  to  agri 
cultural  matters  addressed  to  the  editor  (who  is  supposed 
to  be  informed,  but  who  really  gets  all  his  information 
from  the  agricultural  departments  of  the  metropolitan 
papers),  each  one  of  which  closes  with  a  good  word  for 
1  your  noble,'  or  '  your  brave,'  or  *  your  widely  circulated ' 
paper.  The  scoundrel  writes  them  himself !  And  there 
is  another  column  from  * Aunt  Sue.'  He  is  also  *  Aunt 
Sue.'  In  short,  he  is  everything  except  an  honest  man." 

Although  I  said  nothing,  I  remembered  that  every 
farmer  who  moved  to  Twin  Mounds  found  out  the  agri 
cultural  papers,  and  denounced  them;  in  short,  that 
everybody  except  the  farmers  l^new  what  dreadful  frauds 
they  were." 

"  If  I  should  talk  as  candidly  and  honestly  to  my  friends 
of  the  plough  as  I  talk  to  my  friends  of  the  pen,"  Mr.  Biggs 
continued,  "I  should  advise  them  to  take  the  papers 
which  other  people  take ;  the  papers  which  censure  the 
fanner  when  he  deserves  it,  instead  of  pandering  to  hia 
ignorance,  and  forever  rubbing  him  on  the  back  as  an 
honest  but  oppressed  fellow,  through  no  fault  of  hii 
own.  You  cannot  possibly  do  a  man  more  harm  than  to^ 
Agsiure  him  that  whatever  he  does  is  right,  and  that  what 
ever  his  enemy  does  is  wrong,  but  this  is  what  Litch  do!*, 
and  he  is  well  paid  for  doing  it.  The  farmer  follows  the 
furrow  because  he  can  make  m«.  re  at  that  than  at  any* 
thing  else;  he  is  no  more  oppressed  than  other  men, 
kicepi  as  his  ignorance  makes  it  possible,  for  theie  nevei 


240  THE   STORY  OF   A   COUNTRY  TOWN. 

was  an  age  when  it  was  not  profitable  to  be  sensible  (tnc 
world  being  full  of  unscrupulous  men),  therefore  the  pre 
tence  that  a  man  cannot  be  honest  except  he  plough  or  sow 
for  a  living  is  not  warranted  by  the  facts.  Getting  up 
very  early  in  the  morning,  and  going  about  agricultural 
work  all  day  in  rough  clothes,  does  not  particularly  tend 
to  clear  the  conscience,  but  because  politicians  who  occa- 
§ionally  have  use  for  them  have  said  these  things,  the 
farmers  go  on  accepting  them,  stubbornly  refusing  to  be 
undeceived,  because  it  is  unpleasant  to  acknowledge 
ignorance  after  you  have  once  thought  yourself  very  cun 
ning.  In  my  time,  I  have  harangued  a  meeting  of  well- 
to-do  farmers  over  the  wrongs  they  were  suffering  at  the 
hands  of  miserable  tradesmen,  —  they  call  them  middle, 
men,  —  who  did  not  know  one  day  whether  they  would 
be  able  to  open  their  doors  the  next,  and  received  earnest 
applause,  after  which  I  got  ten  dollars  for  a  charter  for  an 
Alliance  (which  cost  me  at  the  rate  of  two  dollars  a  thou 
sand)  without  difficulty.  It  would  not  be  a  greater  con- 
fidence  game  were  I  to  borrow  ten  dollars  of  them  to  pay 
express  charges  on  the  body  of  a  dead  brother,  giving  as 
security  a  bogus  bond,  for  the  time  a  farmer  spends 
attending  Alliance  meetings  should  be  spent  at  home  in 
reading  an  honest  work  entitled,  '  Thieves  Exposed,'  or 
1  The  Numerous  Devices  Men  Invent  to  Live  without 
Work,'  but  they  rather  enjoy  my  lectures  on  the  beauties 
of  combination  for  protection,  and  the  cheapness  of  Al 
liance  charters,  for  I  never  fail  to  relate  how  honest,  how 
industrious,  how  intelligent,  and  how  oppressed  they  are. 
If  they  want  to  pay  big  prices  for  such  comforts,  it  is  their 
misfortune ;  I  must  live,  and  if  you  say  that  I  am  a  fraud,  I 
reply  that  all  men  are  frauds.  The  lawyers  never  go  t^ 
law ;  the  doctors  never  take  medicine ;  the  preachers  sel 
iom  believe  in  religion,  an*1  I  never  farm.  The  different 


A  WKITEB  ON  FINANCE.  241 

Irades  and  professions  are  only  respectable  because  little 
is  known  of  them  except  by  those  interested  in  their  pro 
fits,  and  I  am  no  worse  than  the  rest  of  them.  Whoever 
will  pay  for  being  humbugged  will  find  humbugs  enough, 
and  the  only  difference  between  me  and  other  professional 
men  is  that  I  acknowledge  that  I  am  dishonest.  My 
position  on  the  reform  question  is  briefly  this  (and  I  may 
add  that  it  is  the  position  of  every  man)  :  I  am  against 
monopolies  until  I  become  a  monopolist  myself.  I  am  at 
present  engaged  in  the  reform  business  that  I  may  become 
a  monopolist.  If  I  should  suddenly  become  rich,  what 
would  I  do  ?  This  :  Refer  to  Alliances  as  dangerous,  and 
guch  demagogues  as  myself  as  suspicious  loafers." 

Mr.  Biggs  seemed  to  greatly  enjoy  this  denunciation  of 
himself,  and  ripped  out  an  oath  or  two  expressive  of  con- 
tempt  for  his  victims. 

"  Our  friend  Bilderby,  for  example,  who  writes  letters 
for  your  paper  on  finance,  and  who  professes  to  know  all 
about  money,  in  reality  knows  so  little  about  his  subject 
that  he  cannot  earn  a  living,  although  he  seems  to  be 
constantly  worried  with  the  fear  that,  from  a  mistaken 
financial  policy,  the  government  will  come  to  ruin.  In 
fact,  Bilderby  only  gets  time  to  write  his  letters  on 
finance,  and  make  excuses  to  his  creditors.  The  fellow 
owes  the  doctor  for  nearly  all  his  children ;  I  am  certain 
he  has  not  paid  for  the  younger  ones.  That  is  Bilderby's 
way  of  being  a  humbug ;  I  have  a  different  way ;  yc  a 
have  another,  and  there  are  so  many  varieties,  that  eveijr 
man  is  accommodated." 

Mr.  Biggs  was  warming  up,  and  unbuttoned  his  collar 
to  talk  with  more  freedom. 

"1  see  occasional  notices  in  your  publication  to  the 
effect  that  Chugg,  the  groceryman,  or  whatever  the  name 
•r  the  business  may  be,  has  just  returned  from  the  Eairt, 


242  THF  STOKY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

which  is  extremely  dull,  and  that  he  is  extremely  glad  tt 
get  back  to  the  enterprising,  the  pushing,  the  promising, 
the  noble,  and  the  beautiful  West.  That  is  YOUB  way 
z>f  being  a  humbug,  for  in  reality  Chugg  is  glad  to  get 
back  to  the  West  because  he  is  of  some  importance  here, 
and  none  there.  The  East  is  full  of  hungry  and  ragged 
men  who  are  superior  in  every  way  to  the  prominent 
citizen  of  the  name  of  Chugg,  and  Chugg  knows  it,  there- 
fore  he  is  glad  to  get  back  where  he  is  looked  upon  as  a 
superior  creature.  I  have  no  hesitancy  in  saying  privately 
that  the  people  in  this  direction  are  not  warranted  in  the 
belief  that  all  the  capable  and  energetic  men  have  left  the 
Fast,  though  it  would  be  disastrous  to  say  as  much  pub 
licly.  When  I  am  in  the  East  it  occurs  to  me  with  great 
force  that  the  miles  of  splendid  business  buildings  I  see 
on  every  hand  must  be  occupied  by  talented  and  energetic 
men,  and  as  we  have  no  such  buildings  in  the  West,  it 
follows  that  we  have  no  such  men.  When  I  see  towering 
manufactories  —  swarming  with  operatives  who  would  be 
ornaments  to  the  best  society  out  here  —  I  think  that  at 
least  a  few  men  of  energy  and  capacity  have  been  left  to 
operate  them,  for  ordinary  men  could  not  do  it.  I  ride 
down  the  long  avenues  of  private  palaces,  each  one  of 
them  worth  a  township  in  the  Smoky  Hill  country,  and  I 
am  convinced  that  we  are  mistaken  in  the  opinion  that  a 
man  must  live  on  the  frontier  in  order  to  be  energetic," 

I  had  a  habit  of  scribbling  with  a  pencil  when  idle,  and 
as  I  picked  up  a  piece  of  paper  to  amuse  myself  in  this 
manner,  Mr.  Biggs  caught  my  hand,  and  said,  "No 
notes ! "  fearing  I  intended  to  publish  his  opinions.  He 
then  explained,  as  he  had  often  done  before,  that  he 
talked  candidly  to  me  for  my  own  good,  and  that  he 
Hrould  be  ruined  if  I  quoted  him  either  in  print  or  pri 
vately.  Being  assured  that  I  had  no  such  intention,  h« 
«i  ent  on :  — 


XAST  VERSUS  WEST.  213 

"  Have  n't  you  noticed  that  when  a  Western  man  gets 
*  considerable  sum  of  money  together,  he  goes  East  to 
lire?  Well,  what  does  it  mean  except  that  the  good 
sense  which  enabled  him  to  make  money  teaches  him  that 
the  society  there  is  preferable  to  ours?  When  we  go 
away  Tor  recreation  and  pleasure,  in  what  direction  do  we 
go  ?  East,  of  course,  because  it  rains  oftener  there  than 
here  ;  because  the  caves,  the  lakes,  the  falls,  the  sea,  and 
the  comforts  are  in  that  direction.  If  I  should  get  rich, 
I  would  leave  this  country,  because  I  know  of  another 
where  I  could  live  more  comfortably.  I  stay  here  because 
it  is  to  my  interest ;  all  of  us  do,  and  deserve  no  credit.  It 
is  rather  humiliating  to  me  than  otherwise  that  I  am  com 
pelled  to  live  where  living  is  cheap,  because  I  cannot 
afford  the  luxuries.  Men  who  are  prosperous,  or  men 
who  live  in  elegant  houses,  do  not  come  West,  but  it  is  the 
unfortunate,  the  poor,  the  indigent,  the  sick  —  the  lower 
classes,  in  short  —  who  came  here  to  grow  up  with  the 
country,  having  failed  to  grow  up  with  the  country  where 
they  came  from." 

My  visitor  got  up  at  this,  and  without  ceremony  took 
his  hat,  and  walked  out,  giving  me  to  understand  that  I 
should  feel  greatly  favored.  I  followed  him  soon  after 
ward,  and  passing  along  the  street,  I  heard  him  gayly 
talking  to  a  crowd  of  men  in  front  of  one  of  the  stores, 
but  in  a  different  strain  —  in  fact,  he  seemed  to  feel  guilty 
for  what  he  had  said,  and  was  denying  it. 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

A  SKELETON  IN  THE   HOUSE  AT  ERRING  8  FORD. 

MORE  than  three  years  had  passed  since  Jo  ami 
Mateel  were  married,  and  I  was  alone  on  the  last 
night  of  the  year,  thinking  that  the  years  were  slipping 
away  wonderfully  fast  of  late,  it  seemed  so  short  a  time 
since  we  had  lived  in  the  country ;  since  the  Rev.  John 
Westlock  so  strangely  disappeared,  and  since  I  was  a  boy 
in  distress  at  my  own  and  Jo's  misfortunes.  The  good 
year  was  dying,  and  would  soon  pass  peacefully  into  the 
dim  past,  after  the  watchers  had  tired  of  waiting,  and 
gone  to  sleep.  As  is  the  case  when  an  old  man  dies,  the 
announcement  is  speedily  followed  by  the  birth  of  a  babe, 
and  so  the  race  and  the  years  are  continued.  As  is  now 
said  of  the  dying  year,  so  it  will  be  said  of  all  of  us.  At 
some  time  in  the  mysterious  future  —  nobody  knows 
when  —  the  hand  that  writes  this  will  be  picking  uneasily 
at  the  covering  of  a  death-bed,  and  it  will  be  whispered 
in  the  room,  and  in  all  the  house,  and  down  the  streets, 
"He  is  dying ;  poor  fellow,  he  is  dead."  The  eye  that 
reads  this  —  at  some  time  in  the  future;  nobody  knows 
when  —  will  become  fixed,  and  it  will  be  gently  said 
u  Dying ;  dead."  The  front  door  will  be  black  with  crape 
for  a  few  days,  and  the  people  will  pass  the  house  rever 
ently  and  silently,  but  after  a  very  little  while  the  token 
rf  death  will  be  removed,  the  house  will  be  thrown  open 
md  aired,  and  laughter  will  be  heard  on  the  inside. 
Birds  will  sing  merrily  at  the  front  door,  and  flowen 


DEATH.  245 

ippear,  and  happ/  children  play  about  the  house,  and 
through  it,  as  thougn  nothing  had  happened.  The  dead 
man  may  have  been  dearly  loved,  but  everything  and 
everybody  encourages  his  friends  to  forget  him,  and  they 
laugh  in  the  room  where  he  died,  and  where  his  coffin  sat 
through  the  long  nights  before  the  burial. 

The  relics  of  departed  friends,  which  were  at  first  care 
fully  laid  away,  are  in  the  course  of  months  or  yean 
resurrected,  and  given  to  their  successors.  The  hat  wons 
by  the  pretty  boy  who  died  last  year,  or  the  year  before, 
is  worn  to-day  by  the  boy  who  came  after  him,  and  he 
plays  with  his  toys,  which  were  at  first  so  sacred,  as 
though  they  had  been  brought  to  the  house  for  him.  The 
mother  who  put  the  little  hat  away  no  doubt  thought  she 
would  keep  it  for  years,  and  look  at  it  to  imagine  that  her 
first-born  was  wearing  it  again,  but  time  has  softened  her 
grief ;  friends  told  her  he  was  better  off,  and  she  hoped 
so,  and  tried  to  convince  herself  that  it  was  all  for 
the  best. 

So  it  will  be  with  the  dying  year ;  it  was  well  loved 
while  it  lasted,  and  brought  us  many  good  gifts,  but  it 
will  be  speedily  forgotten,  and  in  twelve  months  we  shall 
be  equally  indifferent  as  to  its  successor.  One  dies ;  an 
other  is  born ;  so  go  the  people  and  the  years.  There 
will  be  a  birth  and  a  death  to-night,  but  it  is  not  an  un 
common  circumstance  :  there  will  be  a  little  mourning  for 
the  death,  but  a  great  deal  of  rejoicing  and  ringing  of 
bells  for  the  birth. 

The  fire  in  the  room  where  I  usually  worked  had  gone 
oat,  and  I  had  taken  my  papers  to  an  inner  room,  where 
Martin  had  worked  late,  and  which  was  yet  warm.  It 
must  have  been  ten  o'clock,  and  outside  the  snow  tvras 
falling  steadily,  promising  great  drifts  in  the  morning,  aa 
I  could  see  by  the  rays  thrown  out  into  the  darkness  from 


246  THE  8TOKY  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

the  single  light  which  burned  in  the  room.  Just  after  1 
had  settled  down  comfortably  in  my  chair,  some  on« 
opened  the  front  door,  and  stood  on  the  inside,  scraping 
the  snow  from  his  feet,  and  brushing  it  from  his  coat, 
which  startled  me,  for  I  supposed  the  door  to  be  locked. 
Outside  of  the  circle  of  the  lamp  it  was  quite  dark,  and  as 
the  visitor  came  slowly  toward  me,  brushing  the  snow 
from  his  clothing,  I  was  still  in  doubt  as  to  who  it  was, 
until  he  stood  almost  beside  me,  when  I  saw  with  surpris* 
that  it  was  Jo  Erring. 

"  Of  all  the  men  in  the  world,"  I  said,  getting  up,  an J 
making  a  place  for  him  by  the  fire,  "  you  are  the  most 
welcome.  I  think  you  must  be  my  New  Year's  gift,  for 
I  am  lonely  to-night,  and  was  wishing  you  were  here." 

He  held  his  hands  up  to  the  fire  to  warm  them,  but  did 
not  reply,  and  I  noticed,  when  he  looked  at  me,  that  his 
eyes  were  bloodshot  and  swollen. 

"  Is  there  anything  the  matter  ?  "  I  asked. 

Now  that  I  was  looking  at  him  closely,  I  saw  with 
alarm  that  tears  were  in  his  eyes.  He  made  no  effort  to 
hide  this,  but  looked  at  me  as  though  he  would  speak,  but 
could  not,  and  with  a  face  so  pitiful  that  I  became  alarmed. 
He  still  held  his  hands  up  to  the  fire  to  warm  them,  and 
I  expected  him  every  moment  to  burst  out  crying. 

"  Jo,  my  old  friend,"  I  said  to  him  at  last,  laying  my 
hand  on  his  shoulder,  "  tell  me  the  meaning  of  this.  You 
distress  and  alarm  me." 

Turning  his  face  from  the  light,  he  remained  a  long 
while  in  deep  study,  and  finally  got  up  and  walked  to 
that  part  of  the  room  which  was  the  darkest,  where  he 
paced  up  and  down  a  long  time.  I  added  wood  to  the 
6rc,  expecting  him  to  sit  down  every  moment  and  teU 
me  his  trouble,  but  he  continued  his  walk,  and  wrapped 
bis  great  coat  about  him,  as  though  he  was  chilled  to  th* 


A  MAN  OF  bORROW.  247 

heart.  At  last  he  turned  suddenly,  and  came  over  into 
the  light. 

"  For  what  I  am  about  to  say,"  he  said,  sitting  down, 
"  may  God  forgive  me,  for  it  is  a  matter  that  concerns  no 
one  but  myself,  and  should  forever  remain  a  secret  with 
me.  But  I  have  thought  of  it  so  much,  and  am  so  dis 
tressed  from  thinking  of  it,  that  I  must  spe<ik  of  it  to  you, 
or  lose  my  reason.  If  I  could  show  you  the  wickedness 
in  my  thoughts,  you  would  run  away  from  me  in  alarm, 
but  if  I  could  show  you  my  heart,  you  would  weep  over 
the  misery  it  contains.  It  is  unmanly  for  me  to  tell  you 
what  I  came  here  to  tell,  but  I  am  so  wretched  that  I 
walked  here  to-night  through  the  storm  for  the  sympathy 
I  am  sure  you  will  give,  and  which  I  need  so  much.  I 
nave  not  slept  for  weeks,  except  when  nature  asserted 
itself  in  spite  of  my  misery,  but  through  all  the  long 
nighta  I  have  tumbled  and  tossed  about,  thinking  of  the 
matter  in  a  different  light  at  every  turn,  hoping  to  get 
some  comfort  out  of  it,  but  every  new  thought  of  it  seems 
the  worst  of  all.  I  came  out  of  the  house  to-night  to  cool 
my  hot  head,  and  walking  towards  you  caused  me  to  re 
solve  to  come  on,  and  freeze  myself  into  forgetfumess. 
Mateel  does  not  know  where  I  am,  and  I  must  go  back  as 
I  came,  but  I  would  rather  walk  alone  in  this  storm  than 
trust  myself  in  a  darkened  room  with  my  thoughts.  I  am 
sick  to-night,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  but  it  is  from 
thinking  of  the  matter  I  came  to  tell  you  about,  for  it  has 
taken  such  possession  of  me  that  even  sleep  is  denied 
«ie." 

I  was  so  distressed  and  alarmed  that  I  could  not  say  » 
woid,  but  tried  to  appear  natural  by  digging  at  the  fire. 
After  Jo  had  thought  awhile,  he  continued :  — 

"I  need  not  rehearse  the  story  of  my  courtship  and 
marriage  —  you  are  familiar  with  thai,  and  you  know  that 


248  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

I  have  been  very  contented  and  happy,  except  that  evei 
lince  I  have  known  Mateel,  I  have  noticed  an  indifference 
which  often  humiliated  me,  but  which  I  have  excused  for 
a  hundred  reasons,  and  tried  to  think  little  of.  The  letter 
which  I  will  shortly  ask  you  to  read  explains  it  all,  and  it 
is  this  which  has  changed  me  into  a  wicked,  worthless 
man,  without  hope  or  ambition.  The  letter  was  written 
by  Mateel  to  Clinton  Bragg,  when  she  was  his  promised 
wife,  before  they  came  to  Fairview,  and  I  received  it  by 
mail,  addressed  in  a  strange  hand,  six  weeks  ago  yester 
day,  on  an  evening  when  I  was  planning  for  the  future, 
and  when  I  was  in  unusual  good  spirits.  That  she  had 
been  engaged  to  Bragg  I  never  knew,  nor  did  I  suspect 
it,  for  although  I  knew  they  were  brought  up  in  the  same 
neighborhood,  and  had  been  children  together,  the  thought 
never  occurred  to  me  that  they  had  been  lovers,  for  he  is 
more  fit  for  a  hangman's  rope  than  for  an  honest  woman's 
regard.  I  know  now  that  Mateel  has  never  loved  me  as 
the  letter  indicates  she  loved  the  most  contemptible  man 
I  ever  knew ;  a  hundred  times  I  have  wondered  if  there 
were  no  better  lovers  in  the  world  than  Mateel,  but  I  have 
found  that  the  trouble  was  that  she  had  drained  her  heart 
dry  in  loving  my  enemy,  and  that  there  was  none  left  for 
me.  This  is  what  has  wounded  my  pride,  and  broken  my 
spirits,  and  left  me  a  useless  wreck." 

He  took  from  an  inner  pocket  and  handed  me  an  enve« 
lope,  and  taking  from  it  the  letter,  I  began  to  read  aloud. 

u  Read  it  to  yourself,"  he  said.  "  I  am  familiar  with 
it." 

TLe  letter  was  closely  written,  and  read  as  follows  •  — 

"Mr  BRAVE  LOVER,  —  I  write  to-night  to  tell  you  for  the  hun 
dredth  oane  how  much  I  love  you.  When  you  are  away  from  me, 
I  have  n )  o&er  pleasure  than  this,  for  it  brings  you  to  me  to  receiv« 
my  kisses  and  embraces.  Once  you  came  in  the  middle  of  the  day 


A  MISCHIEVOUS   LETTER.  249 

following  the  night  I  wrote  you,  and  If  you  come  to-morrow,  and 
sincerely  believe  and  never  forget  what  I  have  to  say,  this  letter 
will  have  accomplished  its  mission. 

"What  I  want  to  say  is  (and  I  write  it  after  a  great  deal  ol 
serious  deliberation)  that  if  by  an  unlucky  chance  we  should  never 
be  married,  I  should  still  love  you  as  I  do  now,  forever.  I  love  you 
*>  much  that  I  am  anxious  you  should  know  that  even  though  ] 
believed  you  had  forgotten  me,  and  I  became  the  wife  of  some  one 
else,  because  all  women  are  expected  to  marry,  I  should  continue 
to  think  of  you  as  I  do  now,  the  only  man  worthy  of  my  love  in  all 
the  world;  and  every  night  after  my  husband  had  gone  to  sleep,  I 
would  put  my  arms  around  him,  and  imagine  that  it  was  you,  and 
that  you  would  waken  soon,  and  love  me  as  I  am  sure  you  do  this 
night. 

"I  want  you  to  believe  this,  for  it  is  written  with  absolute  sin 
cerity,  and  if  my  hope  of  the  future  should  never  be  realized,  please 
read  this  over,  and  over  again,  and  feel  that  I  am  married  only  in 
penance  for  being  unworthy  of  you.  Wherever  I  am,  and  whatever 
my  condition,  I  beg  of  you  to  remember  that  I  love  only  you;  that 
I  will  never  love  any  one  else,  and  that  with  my  last  breath  I  will 
tenderly  speak  your  name. 

"  I  do  not  believe  God  will  be  so  cruel  as  to  separate  us,  but  if 
He  should,  the  knowledge  that  you  knew  I  continued  to  love  you 
would  make  my  loss  easier  to  bear.  If  I  should  consent  to  be  mar 
ried,  it  would  be  to  some  one  who  cared  for  nothing  but  my  prom 
ise  to  live  with  him;  and  if  I  could  call  him  up  from  the  future  now 
to  stand  beside  me,  I  would  bravely  tell  him  that  I  love  only  Clin 
ton  Bragg,  and  that  though  my  mind  may  change,  my  heart  never 
will. 

"  If  I  should  be  so  unfortunate  as  to  have  a  husband  other  than 
you,  I  would  be  dutiful  and  just  to  him,  but  my  love  I  would  reserve 
until  I  met  you  *n  heaven,  when,  realizing  how  perfect  it  is,  you 
would  accept  it  Loving  you  always. 

"MATEEL." 

I  folded  tne  Better,  and  handed  it  back  to  him,  and  as  it 
'.xrached  his  fingers,  he  shuddered,  as  though  overtaken  by 
»  chill. 

a  The  very  touch  of  it  penetrates  iny  marrow,"  he  said, 
after  putting  it  away  in  his  pocket  as  though  it  were  red- 


250  T1D3  STORY  OF  A  COUNTKY  TOWN. 

hot ;  tt  but  for  all  my  dread  of  its  infamous  contents,  1 
have  read  it  a  hundred  times.  If  I  am  tossing  about  at 
night,  unable  to  sleep  from  thinking  of  it,  I  cannot  help 
making  a  light,  and  reading  it  again." 

"  Did  you  ever  talk  to  her  about  it  ? "  I  asked,  and  I 
im  sure  I  was  trembling  all  over ;  for  I  felt  that  Jo  Erringt 
with  all  his  prospects,  was  now  a  wreck  and  would  nevei 
be  himself  again. 

"  Not  about  this,  directly,"  he  answered,  "  but  she  has 
told  nie  that  she  was  engaged  to  Bragg.  She  treated  it  so 
coolly  that  I  thought  perhaps  such  things  are  common,  and 
that  I  am  unreasonable  to  feel  as  I  do.  I  am  not  familiar 
with  the  ways  of  good  society ;  it  may  be  that  love  is 
only  an  amusement,  to  be  indulged  in  with  every  agree 
able  person ;  it  may  be  that  a  woman  is  none  the  less  a 
true  woman  for  having  been  caressed  and  fondled  by 
different  men,  and  that  it  is  no  fault  for  a  young  girl  to 
spend  half  a  night  with  a  lover  who  is  liable  to  be  suc 
ceeded  in  a  month  by  another,  but  if  such  is  the  social 
creed,  something  convinces  me  that  society  is  wrong,  and 
that  my  revolting  manhood  is  right." 

He  rose  from  his  chair,  and  walked  up  and  down  in  the 
dark  part  of  the  room  again,  and  I  could  not  help  thinking 
of  what  Mr.  Biggs  had  said :  That  every  one  has  a  private 
history. 

"  I  do  not  know  who  broke  the  engagement,"  he  said, 
returning  to  the  fire  at  last,  "  but  I  have  evidence  in  this 
letter  that  it  was  not  Mateel,  therefore  it  is  fair  to  sup 
pose  that  the  insolent  dog  who  sent  this,  tired  of  the  con 
tract,  and  broke  it  off.  The  girl  was  heart-broken,  no 
doubt,  and  was  brought  West  with  the  hope  that  she 
would  encounter  an  ignorant  fellow  with  industrioui 
habits,  but  no  sensibility,  who  could  comfortably  support 
her  until  old  age  and  death  came  to  the  relief  of  hu 


AN  UNFORTUNATE  MARRIAGE.  251 

heart,  but  who  could  never  hope  to  have  her  love,  for  that 
ihe  had  given  already,  although  it  was  not  wanted. 
Through  the  cruel  neglect  of  God  I  became  the  man  who 
i§  expected  to  labor  early  and  late  that  she  may  be  made 
as  comfortable  as  possible,  in  her  affliction.  I  receive 
nothing  in  return  for  this  except  the  knowledge  that  aa 
another  man  did  not  want  her  love,  I  may  have  her  to 
care  for,  as  her  family  is  not  well-to-do,  and  somebody 
must  do  it. 

"  Whenever  I  knock  at  my  heart's  door,  it  is  opened  by 
a  skeleton  hand,  and  this  letter  handed  out  to  me ;  if  am 
bition  beckons  to  me  now,  the  fleshless  fingers  of  an  inex 
orable  devil  hold  me  back ;  and  instead  of  pushing  on,  1 
sit  down  and  cry  that  I  have  been  so  disgraced  through 
no  fault  of  my  own.  They  thought  I  was  a  rough  country 
boy,  lacking  so  delicate  a  thing  as  a  heart,  and  that  I 
would  be  content  with  a  broken  flower  because  it  had 
once  been  very  beautiful ;  I  doubt  if  they  thought  of  me 
at  all,  except  that  I  was  industrious  and  healthy,  as  all  the 
consideration  was  for  Mateel,  who  had  been  wounded  and 
hurt." 

I  listened  to  the  wind  blowing  on  the  outside,  and  I 
thought  it  was  more  mournful  than  I  had  ever  heard  it 
before. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  how  much  my  marriage  to  Mateel 
would  have  done  for  me  had  this  letter  never  been  written, 
for  I  should  have  divined  its  existence  though  it  had  never 
fallen  in  my  way.  Before  I  read  it  I  was  as  happy  as  it 
is  possible  for  a  man  to  be,  though  the  fear  often  oppressed 
we  that  a  dark  shadow  would  fall  across  my  path,  for  I 
had  always  been  taught  to  believe  that  great  sorrow  fol 
lowed  great  happiness.  The  shadow  has  come,  and  the 
devils  are  probably  content  with  its  black  intensity.  I 
proud  that  the  home  I  had  provided  for  Mateel  wai 


g52  THE   STORY   OF   A   COUNTRY   TOWN. 

better  tLan  any  she  had  ever  lived  in  before,  and  wag  kind 
and  careful  of  her  that  she  might  bless  the  day  we  met ; 
I  was  proud  to  be  known  as  a  progressing,  growing  man 
that  her  father  might  be  proud  of  me,  as  he  knew  how 
hard  my  boyhood  was,  but  I  see  now  that  they  all  re 
garded  me  as  a  convenience ;  a  trusty  packhorse  of  great 
endurance,  and  I  know  that  my  years  of  work  for  Mateel 
were  not  worthy  of  a  man's  ambition.  I  can  never  tell 
you,  though  I  would  willingly  if  I  could,  how  great  is  the 
burden  I  must  bear  from  this  time  forward.  Hope  has 
been  killed  within  me,  except  hope  to  die,  and  my  ambi 
tion  has  been  cruelly  trampled  upon  and  killed  by  a  man 
I  never  wronged." 

He  sat  crouching  before  the  fire,  like  a  man  who  had 
been  beaten  without  cause  by  superior  numbers,  and  who 
felt  humiliated  because  his  oppressors  had  escaped,  and  he 
could  not  be  avenged  upon  them. 

"  Until  six  weeks  ago,  Mateel  was  a  perfect  woman  in 
my  eyes,  and  the  queen  of  my  heart ;  but  since  that  time 
I  have  begun  to  criticise  her  (to  myself;  she  does  not 
know  it),  and  if  I  become  an  indifferent  husband,  the 
fault  is  her  own.  I  cannot  be  the  same  as  I  wa»  before, 
for  I  shall  be  inclined  to  look  upon  her  simply  as  the  con 
venience  she  undertook  to  become,  instead  of  my  wife.  If 
%he  fails  to  be  convenient  —  and  I  fear  I  shall  be  a  hard 
critic  —  I  cannot  help  observing  it  in  my  present  stato  oi 
mind,  though  I  shall  remark  it  only  to  myself.  She  has 
deliberately  deceived  me,  but  in  spite  of  it  I  love  her,  and 
every  night-wind  brings  me  word  that  it  is  not  returned. 
The  very  wheels  in  the  mill  give  voice  to  her  entreaty  to 
Bragg  to  remember  that  she  will  never  love  me ;  every 
sound  mocks  ine  that  my  wife  is  proud  of  her  love  for 
another,  and  piteously  begs  that  it  may  never  be  for 
gotten.  Since  reading  the  letter  I  have  never  kissed  mj 


THE  FKAGBANCE  OF  THE  BO8E. 

rife,  or  put  my  arms  about  her,  and  I  hope  God  may 
itrike  me  dead  if  ever  I  do  either  again." 

He  stood  up  in  great  excitement,  as  if  calling  on  God 
to  witness  his  oath;  but,  as  if  recalling  something,  he 
meekly  sat  down  again,  and  continued  in  a  subdued  tcne. 

"I  have  apologized  to  her  for  my  conduct,  for  she 
Beems  distressed  about  it,  and  promised  that  perhaps  I 
would  think  better  of  it  after  a  while,  but  I  never  shall ; 
it  is  growing  worse  with  me,  and  I  tremble  when  I  think 
of  my  future.  I  talk  with  her  about  the  old  affair  with 
Bragg  over  and  over  again,  hoping  it  was  not  so  bad  as  I 
think.  She  is  very  truthful  and  candid,  and  reluctantly 
answers  every  question,  however  searching  it  may  be,  but 
the  more  I  talk  of  it  the  worse  it  gets.  Don't  imagine 
from  what  I  have  said  that  she  was  ever  anything  but  a 
virtuous  girl ;  but  she  once  loved  that  man  so  madly  that 
she  denounced  me  before  she  had  seen  me.  The  fresh 
and  innocent  affection  which  I  should  have  had  was  given 
to  Bragg  —  he  had  the  fragrance  of  the  rose ;  I  have  the 
withered  leaves,  after  he  tired  of  its  beauty,  and  tossed  it 
away.  You  can  imagine  the  scenes  between  two  young 
people  who  passionately  love  each  other,  and  who  only 
delay  marriage  until  a  convenient  time.  If  you  cannot, 
I  can ;  and  it  is  this  imagination  which  never  leaves  me. 
And  to  add  to  my  wretchedness,  Brags'  throws  himself  in 
my  way  as  often  as  possible,  that  I  maj  contemplate  the 
man  who  was  worthy  of  the  woman  I  am  not.  The 
time  may  come  when  I  would  give  my  life  to  take  him 
by  the  throat,  and  if  ever  it  does,  there  will  be  murder 
done,  for  with  my  hands  once  upon  him  I  would  tear  him 
iflto  bits." 

I  did  not  know  what  to  say  in  reply,  for  I  could  think  of 
nothing  that  would  comfort  him ;  and  though  I  knew  he 
voulcl  never  again  need  my  friendship  as  he  needed  it 


254  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY   TOWN. 

then,  this  knowledge  only  confused  me,  and  made  me 
stammer  when  I  attempted  to  put  in  a  word.  He  seemed 
to  have  so  thoroughly  considered  the  matter  that  there 
was  no  defence,  and  stated  it  so  candidly  that  I  thought 
he  only  expected  me  to  pity  him. 

"  Jo,"  I  said,  as  the  thought  occurred  to  me,  "  you  un 
doubtedly  received  this  letter  from  Bragg ;  no  one  else 
would  be  malicious  enough  to  send  it.  Are  you  certain 
he  did  not  write  it  ?  " 

A  new  hope  sprang  into  his  eyes,  though  I  noticed  that 
his  hand  paused  on  its  way  to  the  pocket  which  contained 
the  letter,  as  though  it  was  of  no  use  to  look.  But  he 
unfolded  the  letter  with  trembling  hands,  and  studied  it 
with  great  care,  spending  so  much  time  over  it  that  I 
hoped  we  should  have  occasion  to  go  out  and  find  the 
scoundrel,  and  beat  him,  but  after  Jo  had  finished  his 
inspection,  I  saw  that  he  was  satisfied  that  the  letter  was 
written  by  Mateel. 

"  That  it  might  be  a  forgery  never  occurred  to  me  be 
fore,"  he  said,  with  a  long  sigh,  "  but  it  is  genuine  ;  there 
is  no  doubt." 

"  I  need  not  tell  you,  my  dear  old  friend,"  I  said,  "  that 
dm  sorry  this  has  happened.  I  regret  it  so  much  that  I 
am  powerless  to  comfort  you,  if  that  were  possible.  Your 
tears  have  unmanned  me." 

"  I  want  to  apologize  to-night  for  my  future,"  he  said, 
after  a  long  silence,  "  for  I  no  longer  have  ambition.  I 
tan  never  succeed  now,  and  I  want  you  to  know  why. 
If  I  do  not  advance  in  the  future,  I  desire  that  my  only 
friend  know  that  I  no  longer  care  to  advance  ;  that  I  have 
UO  reason  to  wish  for  success,  and  that  I  am  not  trying. 
J  I  become  a  Fairview  man,  miserable  and  silent,  with 
out  hope  or  ambition,  I  want  you  to  know  that  I  am  not 
to  blame.  I  have  iust  such  a  business,  and  just  such  a 


EBCKLESS  OF  WEAL  OB  WOB.  255 

home,  as  we  pictured  together  when  we  were  boys.  I 
have  proved  to  you  that  I  did  not  over-estimate  my 
strength,  and  if  I  do  not  progress  now  that  I  am  a  man. 
you  will  know  that  my  strength  has  been  broken.  The 
home  I  built  with  so  much  care  is  distasteful  to  me, 
the  business  I  own  after  such  a  struggle,  I  hate ;  and  1 
want  you  to  know  that,  while  I  have  not  tired  of  work 
ing,  I  no  longer  care  to  succeed.  The  one  above  all 
others  who  should  have  helped  me  has  only  brought  me 
disgrace,  and  broken  my  heart.  There  was  no  contract 
between  us,  but  when  Mateel  became  my  promised  wife, 
I  made  a  vow  to  accomplish  what  I  have ;  I  have  suc 
ceeded,  but  she  has  succeeded  in  nothing  except  to  bring 
me  this  letter  and  its  humiliating  contents.  I  would  not 
be  a  successful  man  in  the  future  if  I  could.  Bragg  will 
Snally  become  a  beggar,  for  he  is  a  spendthrift  and 
loafer,  and  I  believe  that  she  would  use  my  means  to 
help  him.  I  would  rather  be  poor  than  rich,  for  if  I 
should  die  possessed  of  property,  that  scoundrel  would 
overcome  his  former  scruples  and  marry  my  widow.  My 
ambition  in  the  future  will  be  to  live  long  and  die  poor. 
I  hope  the  Devil  is  satisfied.  He  has  been  after  me  a 
long  while,  and  I  have  passed  into  his  possession  body 
and  soul.  But  I  must  return  home,"  he  said,  as  if  remem 
bering  the  hour.  "  Mateel  does  not  know  where  I  am, 
though  I  suspect  she  does  not  care,  and  is  soundly  sleep- 
ing," 

"  How  are  you  going  ?  "  1  asked,  as  he  got  up,  and  began 
buttoning  his  great  coat  around  him. 

"  As  I  came  —  on  foot." 

He  started  to  walk  past  me,  and  would  have  gone  away 
:»j»d  I  not  held  him  back. 

*'  To-morrow  is  Saturday,  anc?  New  Year,"  I  said.  "  It 
*  a  holiday,  and  I  will  go  with  you.  Wait  here  until  ) 
w>me  back." 


256  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

If  e  consent^  without  a  word,  and  sat  down,  and  I  think 
did  not  change  his  position  until  I  came  back  with  tli€ 
horses.  It  was  an  hour  after  midnight,  and  the  cold  WJM 
intense  —  a  miserable  night  for  such  a  ride,  but  I  will 
ingly  undertook  it,  knowing  it  was  a  kindness  to  Jo,  and 
that  we  could  easily  make  the  distance  in  an  hour.  When 
I  told  my  mother  that  I  was  going  to  Fairview,  she  was 
not  surprised,  nor  did  she  ask  me  any  questions,  and  I 
was  soon  on  the  way,  with  Jo  by  my  side. 

When  we  drove  up  to  the  house  at  the  mill,  which  we 
did  after  a  cold  ride  without  speaking  a  word,  I  saw  a 
curtain  pulled  aside  in  a  room  where  there  was  a  light, 
and  Mateel's  pale  and  frightened  face  peering  out,  but  by 
the  time  she  appeared  at  the  door,  and  opened  it,  we  had 
passed  on  to  the  stables,  and  were  putting  away  the 
horses.  I  was  chilled  through  with  cold,  but  when  we 
walked  back  toward  the  house,  I  am  certain  I  shivered 
because  I  dreaded  to  see  them  meet,  knowing  how  un 
happy  and  how  helpless  both  were.  I  opened  the  door, 
and  we  walked  in  together,  Jo  a  little  behind  me,  and  we 
went  direct  to  the  fire,  though  I  stopped  and  held  out  my 
hand  to  his  frightened  wife.  She  was  very  pale,  and  I 
knew  she  had  been  weeping,  for  her  eyes  were  red  and 
swollen.  While  she  took  my  hat  and  coat,  Jo  took  off 
his,  and  held  his  hands  out  to  the  fire  as  he  had  done 
when  he  came  to  see  me  in  town.  He  had  taken  a  hasty 
glance  at  his  wife,  and  I  thought  her  distress  added  to  his 
own,  as  though  now  both  were  wretched,  arid  nobody  to 
blame  for  it. 

"  Jo,  my  husband,"  she  said,  in  a  piteous,  hesitating 
tone,  and  almost  crying,  "what  has  happened?  You 
took  so  strange  I  have  been  walking  the  floor  sinci 
eight  o'clock  waiting  foi  you.  Is  there  anything  th« 


AN    UNREASONABLE  MAV.  251 

As  Jo  did  not  reply,  she  looked  at  me  for  an  answer, 
uA  I  said  he  had  business  in  town  which  occupied  him 
until  late ;  and  that,  knowing  she  would  be  worried,  I  had 
brought  him  home.  But  this  did  not  satisfy  her,  and 
Talking  over  to  Jo,  she  stood  beside  him. 

"Why  don't  you  speak  to  me?  You  have  never 
reated  me  this  way  before." 

As  she  stood  trembling  beside  him,  I  thought  that 
urely  Jo's  letter  was  a  forgery,  and  that  if  she  did  not 
love  her  husband,  a  woman  never  did. 

Looking  up  at  her  as  though  half  ashamed,  Jo  said  :  — 

"  You  know  why  I  went  out  of  the  house  to-night.  It 
is  nothing  more  than  that ;  you  say  it  is  not  serious." 

Mat  eel  walked  over  to  a  chair  near  me  —  I  thought  she 
staggered  as  she  went  —  and  sat  down,  and  her  face  was 
so  pale  and  frightened  that  I  felt  sure  Jo  wronged  her 
when  he  said  she  did  not  care.  We  sat  there  so  long 
hi  silence  that  I  began  wondering  who  would  first  speak, 
and  what  would  be  said,  and  whether  it  would  clear  up 
this  distressing  matter.  When  I  glanced  at  Mateel,  I 
saw  despair  and  helplessness  written  in  her  face,  and 
determined  to  go  to  bed,  and  leave  them  alone,  hoping 
they  would  talk  it  over,  and  forget  it.  Jo  saw  my  inten 
tion,  and  motioned  me  back. 

*'  You  say  it  is  not  serious,"  he  said,  glancing  hurriedly 
at  his  wife,  as  if  afraid  that  if  he  looked  in  her  face,  and 
saw  its  distress,  his  stubborn  heart  would  relent  so  much 
so  as  to  commit  the  unpardonable  offense  of  taking  her 
in  his  arms ;  "  therefore  you  will  not  care  that  I  have  told 
Ned.  I  have  talked  to  him  more  freely  than  to  you.  I 
went  to  town  for  that  purpose." 

Had  my  life  depended  upon  it,  I  could  not  have  told 
which  one  I  pitied  most. 

"  AJS  I  know  you  to  be  a  truthful  woman,"  he  went  on. 


258  THE  STORY   OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

after  a  ong  pause,  "  and  you  say  it  is  not  serious,  I  bft 
lieve  that  you  think  so ;  but  it  is  all  the  more  unfortunate 
on  that  account,  for  it  is  a  very  grave  matter  to  me.  I 
can  never  explain  to  you  fully  why  I  take  it  so  much  to 
heart,  because  I  should  wound  your  feelings  in  doing  it, 
but  the  change  in  me  within  six  weeks  will  convince  yon 
that  if  I  am  unreasonable  about  it,  I  cannot  help  it,  and 
that  my  pride  has  been  humbled,  and  my  spirit  broken, 
by  a  circumstance  for  which  you  are  probably  not  to 
blame,  when  everything  is  considered.  It  is  unmanly 
in  me  to  feel  as  I  do,  and  I  apologize  to  you  that  I  have 
not  manhood  sufficient  (if  that  is  a  reasonable  excuse)  to 
shake  off  a  circumstance  which  will  affect  my  future,  but 
which  you  regard  as  trifling.  I  have  loved  you  —  and  I 
do  yet ;  it  is  nothing  to  me  what  those  I  do  not  care  for 
have  been  —  I  have  loved  you  with  my  whole  heart,  and 
I  have  never  divided  my  affection  with  anyone,  if  I 
except  an  honest  friendship  for  my  sister's  son,  and  who 
was  the  sole  companion  of  my  wretched  boyhood ;  but 
the  more  I  love  you,  the  more  unhappy  I  am.  This  is  my 
unfortunate  dilemma,  and  I  only  mention  it  because  the 
serious  truth  must  be  known.  Although  it  nearly  killed 
me,  I  asked  you  never  to  show  me  affection  until  I  felt 
differently ;  I  did  this  because  I  believed  you  learned  to 
be  affectionate  with  a  man  I  hate,  and  that  you  can  never 
show  me  an  act  of  kindness  you  did  not  show  him,  and 
which  your  love  for  him  taught  you.  No  woman's  lips 
ever  touched  mine  —  my  only  sister's  alone  excepted,  and 
ners  not  frequently  —  until  yours  did;  my  mind  was 
never  occupied  with  thoughts  of  love  until  I  met  you,  and 
now  that  I  know  you  only  consented  to  marry  rne  be 
cause  you  could  not  be  better  suited,  my  simple  affection 
*  hurt.  I  know  that  you  care  for  me  in  a  fashion ;  so 
you  do  for  every  one  who  is  kind  to  you ;  but  I  wanted 


DAMNTJM  ABSQUB  INJUBIA.  269 

the  affection  you  gave  HIM,  your  first  and  best  I  feel 
debased  that  this  affair  has  ruined  me,  for  it  has  com 
pletely,  and  I  can  no  longer  look  an  honest  man  in  the 
face,  for  against  my  will  I  am  an  indifferent  husband, 
Instead  of  the  worthy  one  I  hoped  to  become.  I  was 
brought  up  in  a  community  where  the  women  were  over 
worked,  imposed  upon,  and  unhappy ;  I  resolved  to  make 
my  wife  a  notable  exception  to  this  rule,  but  I  cannot 
now,  and  I  feel  the  disgrace  keenly." 

The  pale,  fretful  women  of  Fairview,  who  talked  in  the 
jhurch  of  their  heavy  crosses  to  bear,  and  sat  down 
crying,  passed  before  me  in  procession ;  and  staggering 
behind  them,  with  the  heaviest  cross  of  all,  was  Mateel. 

"  I  was  so  particular  to  tell  you  how  I  felt  about  this 
matter  before  we  were  married,"  Jo  went  on,  still  looking 
into  the  fire,  "  though  I  spoke  of  it  then  only  to  convince 
you  that  I  was  a  good  lover,  for  I  did  not  suspect  that 
you  regarded  me  as  a  victim  instead  of  a  man.  I  talked 
of  it  seriously  that  you  might  know  I  was  in  earnest,  and 
much  as  I  loved  you,  had  I  known  this  I  would  have  given 
you  up  at  the  last  moment.  There  might  have  been  a 
remedy  for  it  then  ;  there  is  none  now.  As  I  have  been 
during  the  past  six  weeks,  so  shall  I  be  as  long  as  I  live, 
except  that  I  shall  grow  more  bitter  and  resentful.  It  in 
cruel  that  I  have  been  mercilessly  ruined,  and  nobody  to 
blame  for  it.  Were  I  injured  in  any  other  way,  there 
would  be  some  one  to  punish,  and  amends  to  be  made,  but 
in  this  no  wrong  has  been  done ;  indeed,  I  suppose  I,  who 
am  so  grievously  injured,  am  more  to  blame  than  any  one 
else  for  being  so  absurd.  I  am  certain  every  one  will 
regard  it  in  this  way,  although  that  will  not  help  the 
matter  so  far  as  I  am  concerned." 

There  were  evidences  of  bitterness  in  his  words  now, 
than  of  sadness  and  regret ;  and  he  looked  around 


260  THE  STOEY  OF  A   COUNTRY  TOWN. 

the  room  fiercely,  as  though  he  would  do  something  de» 
perate  to  those  who  had  injured  him.,  But  he  soon  began 
think  ing  again,  and  went  on  talking :  — 

"I  speak  frankly  only  that  we  may  understand  each 
other,  for  it  grieves  me  to  do  it.  It  is  not  a  pleasure  foi 
me  to  command  you  never  to  touch  me  again.  During 
the  short  time  we  have  lived  apart  on  account  of  this 
unfortunate  matter,  I  have  prayed  every  night  that  you 
ivould  come  to  me,  though  I  had  locked  my  door  so  you 
could  not.  When  my  heart  finally  breaks  it  will  be  be 
cause  you  no  longer  come  to  me,  though  I  will  not  let  you. 
One  night  I  became  so  distracted  thinking  of  your  unhap- 
piness  as  well  as  my  own  that  I  stole  softly  into  your  room 
intending  to  kiss  away  your  tears,  and  ask  you  to  forgive 
my  unintended  cruelty ;  but  I  found  you  quietly  sleeping, 
and  I  will  swear  that  by  the  light  of  my  lamp  I  saw  you 
smiling.  I  will  swear  that  you  spoke  the  name  of  Clin 
ton  ;  and  I  went  back  to  my  room  determined  to  kill  him, 
and  then  myself.  But  my  cowardly  heart  —  it  was  never 
cowardly  before  —  failed  me,  and  I  could  only  become 
more  ugly  and  wicked." 

From  the  manner  in  which  Mateel  started  at  this  I  be 
lieved  she  had  only  gone  to  sleep  when  completely  ex 
hausted,  and  that  she  had  only  spoken  the  name  because 
she  was  familiar  with  it,  as  she  was  familiar  with  a  thou 
sand  others  ;  but  the  circumstance  seemed  only  to  convince 
her  that  everything  was  against  her,  and  that  explanations 
would  be  useless;  but,  as  if  trying  to  avoid  the  subject, 
ihe  asked,  without  looking  up :  — 

"  Since  you  have  told  Ned,  what  does  he  think  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  a  competent  judge,"  I  answered  hurriedly, 
4orry  that  she  had  appealed  to  me  at  all,  for  I  could  think 
of  no  comfort  for  either  of  them.  "  I  can  only  say  that  I 
fcave  so  much  confidence  in  your  husbanc  that  I  do  no4 


SCHOOL-GIRL   FOLLY.  261 

question  his  sorrow.  It  is  enough  for  me  to  know  that  he 
is  unhappy,  though,  if  I  should  advise  him,  it  would  be  to 
try  to  forget,  The  world  is  full  of  difficulties  which  have 
no  other  remedy  than  this,  though  they  are  seldom  for 
gotten.  I  have  always  known  that  Jo  was  just  such  a 
man  as  he  has  shown  himself  to  be  to-night ;  I  remember 
distinctly  how  gloomy  he  became  in  talking  about  it  the 
evening  I  first  went  to  your  house  with  him,  and  how  it 
changed  his  disposition ;  and  I  remember  how  gayly  you 
laughed  at  it  as  if  it  were  of  no  consequence.  I  haTe 
always  been  Jo's  friend ;  I  always  shall  be,  and  am  his 
friend  in  this." 

She  did  not  look  up,  but  kept  gazing  at  the  fire,  as  she 
had  done  before. 

"  It  is  my  most  serious  tauit  that  I  did  not  tell  him  of  it 
before  we  were  married ;  but  I  was  timid,  and  thought  of 
it  only  as  one  of  the  many  little  regrets  with  which  every 
life  is  filled,  and  neglected  it.  I  could  not  love  my  hus 
band  more  than  I  do,  and  I  only  failed  to  tell  him  of  it 
because  I  feared  it  would  give  him  unnecessary  pain.  I 
was  but  sixteen  then ;  a  school-girl  without  serious  thought 
or  purpose,  and  certainly  every  one  of  my  companions 
was  as  guilty  as  I,  if  it  can  be  called  guilt.  It  is  not  ne 
cessary  for  me  to  make  explanations,  for  he  has  given  me 
notice  that  they  will  not  be  accepted,  but  if  there  is  any 
thing  I  can  do  to  make  atonement  —  no  difference  what  it 
is ;  even  to  going  away  from  him,  and  dying  alone  and  ne« 
glected — I  will  gladly  do  it,  and  humble  myself  cheerfully 
if  that  course  will  relieve  him.  I  have  so  much  confi 
dence  in  my  husband  that  I  do  not  question  the  honesty 
of  his  grief,  and  for  his  sake  I  regret  my  past.  In  justice 
to  my  womanhood  I  cannot  say  I  am  ashamed  of  it.  II 
I  mentioned  a  name  which  was  obnoxious  to  my  husband 
a  ray  sleep,  it  was  because  the  name  had  caused  nu  trot* 


262  THE  STORY   OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

ble.  I  do  not  remember  it,  for  since  this  unhappy  changf 
in  our  home  I  have  been  ill  and  worn  out.  I  was  nevei 
strong,  but  I  am  so  weak  now  as  to  be  helpless." 

Jo  seemed  to  not  pay  the  slightest  attention  while  hii 
wife  was  talking,  for  he  kept  his  eyes  on  the  floor,  but  that 
he  was  listening  intently  I  knew  very  well.  Mateel  looked 
at  him  timidly  when  she  had  finished,  as  if  exrecting  a 
reply,  but  as  he  made  none,  she  too  looked  at  the  floor.  I 
watched  her  face  narrowly,  and  there  saw  depicted  such 
misery  as  I  can  never  forget.  She  seemed  to  realize  that 
ghe  had  made  her  husband  unhappy  by  a  thoughtless  act, 
and  to  realize  her  utter  inability  to  supply  a  remedy.  I 
think  a  more  ingenious  woman  could  have  made  a  more 
cautious  statement,  though  not  a  more  honest  one,  and 
won  her  husband  back  by  explanations ;  but  Mateel,  as 
was  the  case  with  her  father,  gave  up  at  once  on  the  ap 
proach  of  a  difficulty,  and  prepared  for  the  worst.  I  saw 
in  her  face  that  she  would  never  be  able  to  effect  a  recon 
ciliation  ;  for,  believing  it  to  be  hopeless,  she  would  bo 
dumb  in  contemplating  the  life  they  would  lead  in  future. 
I  knew  she  would  be  kind  and  attentive,  and  hope  for  the 
best,  but  in  her  fright  and  consternation  she  could  not 
gather  strength  to  test  her  ingenuity.  I  knew  that  she 
would  accept  her  husband's  increasing  obstinacy  as  evi 
dence  that  a  great  calamity  had  come  upon  their  house, 
and  meekly  submit,  instead  of  resolving  to  conquer  and 
triumph  over  it.  If  she  had  put  her  arms  around  his  neck 
then  (as  he  wanted  her  to  do,  in  spite  of  his  commands  to 
the  contrary),  and,  between  declarations  of  her  love,  asked 
him  to  give  her  a  year  in  which  to  prove  her  devotion, 
and  explain  away  the  unhappy  past,  I  believe  this  story 
would  never  have  been  written,  but  they  misunderstood 
each  other  at  the  beginning,  and  continued  it  until  the 
and.  1  could  see,  also,  that  Jo  regarded  what  she  had  said 


HORRORS.  201 

is  a  sort  of  justification  of  her  course,  thus  widening  and 
deepening  the  gulf  between  them ;  and  I  became  so  un 
comfortable  that  I  walked  the  floor  to  collect  myself,  but 
I  could  not  think  of  anything  which,  if  expressed,  would 
help  them,  and  I  became  more  uncomfortable  still  when 
I  reflected  that  they  would  accept  my  embarrassment  ai 
an  evidence  that  I  thought  there  was  nothing  to  be  done 
except  the  worst  that  could  be  done.  1  sat  down  thefi 
determined  to  speak  of  the  matter  lightly,  but  a  look  at 
them  convinced  me  that  this  would  be  mockery,  therefore 
I  changed  my  mind,  and  said  I  would  go  to  bed.  This 
seemed  to  startle  them  both,  as  though  they  dreaded  to  be 
'eft  alone,  and  Jo  asked  as  a  favor  that  I  stay  with  him. 

"  If  you  leave  that  chair,"  he  said,  "  a  Devil  will  occupy 
it,  and  stare  at  me  until  daylight." 

I  replied  that  I  only  thought  of  going  to  bed  to  leave 
them  alone,  because  I  felt  like  an  intruder,  and  was  not  at 
all  sleepy,  and  in  response  to  his  request  I  stirred  the  fire, 
and  sat  down  between  them.  Occasionally  I  dozed,  but 
on  waking  again,  I  found  them  sitting  on  either  side  of 
the  fire,  as  far  apart  as  possible,  as  my  grandfather  and 
grandmother  had  done  before  them.  I  felt  that  all 
had  been  said  that  could  be  said,  and  although  once  01 
twice  I  broke  the  silence  by  some  commonplace  remark 
neither  of  them  replied  further  than  to  look  up  as  if  im- 
ploring  me  not  to  go  to  sleep  again,  and  leave  them  alone. 

I  thought  the  night  would  never  end,  but  at  last  the 
room  began  to  grow  lighter,  and  when  the  sun  came  up 
over  the  woods,  its  first  rays  looked  in  upon  two  faces  so 
haggard  and  worn  that  I  wondered  whether  it  did  not 
pity  them.  The  sun  came  up  higher  yet,  but  still  they 
sat  there ;  and  the  curtains  being  down,  and  the  shutters 
closed,  I  thought  the  sunlight  had  deserted  that  house, 
and  given  it  over  to  gloom  and  despair. 


CHAPTER  XYTTT- 

THE  SHADOW  EN  THE  SMOKY  HILLS. 

A  LTHOUGH  I  began  my  career  as  an  editor  with  a 
£*-  good  deal  of  enthusiasm,  in  the  course  of  two  oi 
three  years  I  became  so  tired  of  the  work  that  I  longed 
to  give  away  the  establishment,  that  I  might  have  a 
month's  rest.  I  have  since  wondered  that  I  did  not 
follow  the  example  of  the  founder  of  the  "Union  of 
States,"  and  run  off,  as  I  came  to  regard  myself  as  filling 
the  station  that  my  father  stormed,  and  my  mother  cried, 
because  I  could  not  fill  in  my  youth,  not  being  a  girl ;  for 
as  a  kitchen  maid  only  cleans  dishes  that  they  may  be 
soiled  again,  so  it  seemed  that  we  only  set  up  the  types 
and  inked  them  that  we  might  wash  and  tear  them  down, 
and  begin  all  over  again. 

It  was  peculiar  to  my  business  that  the  people  could 
see  at  the  end  of  every  week  all  that  had  been  accom 
plished,  and  it  was  usually  so  little  (though  I  did  the  best 
I  could)  that  I  felt  ashamed  of  it,  and  dreaded  to  see  a 
stranger  pick  up  the  "  Union  of  States  "  in  my  presence, 
for  fear  he  would  not  know  my  connection  with  it  and 
make  unfavorable  comment.  I  frequently  left  a  public 
place  on  this  account,  and  I  never  came  suddenly  upon  a 
knot  of  men  that  I  did  not  hurriedly  announce  iny 
presence,  so  that  if  they  were  pointing  out  the  most 
glaring  defects  of  the  paper,  they  could  spare  me  th« 
humiliation  of  listening  to  them. 

Other  trades  and  professions  are  more  secret,  and  theii 
264 


EDITING.  265 

contemptible  transactions  generously  hid  from  the  public, 
but  all  my  work  had  to  be  submitted  to  the  criticism  ol 
every  idle  vagrant  who  cared  to  pick  up  the  sheet.  A 
lawyer  or  a  merchant  might  lock  himself  up  in  his  office, 
and  pretend  to  be  engaged  in  grave  affairs  while  really 
idling  time  away,  but  if  I  had  attempted  it,  the  deception 
would  have  been  apparent  at  once.  Public  attention  is 
always  called  to  a  newspaper,  for  otherwise  it  cannot 
prosper,  and  ao  the  people  are  usually  disgusted  when 
they  realize  how  little  a  man  can  do,  papers  of  the  class  1 
published  were  not  popular.  Other  men's  affairs  were 
equally  contemptible,  but  they  were  charitably  hid  frore 
the  public  gaze,  whereas  mine  were  regarded  as  com 
mon  property,  and  fault  found  accordingly.  I  did  not 
know  then,  though  I  have  since  found  it  out,  that 
what  one  complains  of  will  please  another^  so  that 
when  a  paper  makes  an  enemy,  it  makes  a  friend  with 
the  same  paragraph,  though  the  enemy  takes  more  pains 
to  talk  about  it  than  the  gentleman  who  is  quietly  de 
lighted. 

It  is  my  opinion  that  to  become  too  well  known  is  dan 
gerous,  for  under  such  circumstances  your  faults  are  com 
mon  property,  and  your  insignificance  proverbial,  and  a 
man  who  writes  long  for  a  newspaper  will  inevitably  show 
every  weakness  of  which  he  is  possessed.  Each  week  I 
laid  before  the  people  every  thought,  every  idea,  and 
every  suggestion  I  was  possessed  of,  and  became  so  tired 
of  being  criticised  that  I  would  have  given  ten  years  of 
my  life  for  half  a  year's  vacation.  When  Martin  grew 
tired  (he  was  at  first  a  valuable  assistant,  but  his  snthu- 
liasm,  like  mine,  did  not  last  long),  he  coolly  said  he  waa 
worn  out ;  but  I  had  no  one  to  whom  I  could  make  thai 
excuse,  and  was  compelled  to  get  along  the  best  I  could. 
I  was  subject  to  the  beck  and  nod  of  every  ridicnioni 


IStft)  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTKY  TOWN. 

man  in  the  community,  for  every  citizen  thought  it  aia 
duty  to  give  me  good  advice  if  he  did  not  give  me  patron 
age,  and  though  I  longed  to  retaliate  by  pointing  out  the 
offences  of  some  of  them,  I  found  it  politic  to  hold  my 
peace.  Occasionally  I  wrote  a  very  good  thing  (at  least, 
occasionally  I  attracted  attention),  but  nobody  gave  me 
credit  for  it,  and  it  was  attributed  to  some  one  in  th« 
town  who  could  not  write  an  ordinary  business  letter 
Hjkhout  lolling  out  his  tongue. 

/  A  man  should  not  write  for  a  newspaper  long  in  one 
town,  for  he  becomes  so  familiar  with  the  small  affairs  oi 
the  people  that  it  is  a  great  effort  to  treat  them  with 
respect.  In  the  course  of  a  few  years  he  will  have  had 
occasion  to  criticise  every  man  of  any  importance  in  a 
town  of  the  size  of  Twin  Mounds,  if  he  is  honest  and 
truthful,  and  will  be  generally  despised  in  consequence. 
Even  if  a  complimentary  twaddler,  sowing  good  words  to 
the  exclusion  of  everything  else,  he  will  become  unpopular 
for  that,  for  the  people  will  soon  discover  that  he  is  a 
man  of  no  discrimination  or  honesty,  if  he  speaks  well  of 
everybody. 

I  wonder  that  anyone  took  the  "  Union  of  States,"  and 
as  for  its  advertising  I  was  certain  the  people  were  throw 
ing  their  money  away.  It  was  the  dullest  paper,  I  have 
no  doubt,  ever  published;  but  somehow  enough  people 
took  it  to  make  its  publication  profitable,  though  I  was 
always  expecting  them  to  stop  it,  and  believed  that  it 
would  in  the  end  become  necessary  to  suspend  its  publi 
cation  entirely.  I  remember  that  I  would  look  over  it 
carefully  on  press  days,  and,  thinking  that  there  was  not 
A  paragraph  of  news  or  comment  which  was  not  either  old 
or  silly,  almost  conclude  not  to  print  it  at  all,  but  if  it 
was  an  hour  late  in  issuing,  a  great  many  called  to  con> 
plain,  wMch  led  me  to  believe  that  they  had  nothing  elw 


TRIUMPH   OF  BIG   ADAM.  267 

to  do,  and  were  anxious  to  get  a  copy  and  make  fun  of  it, 
I  am  convinced  now  that  much  of  this  worry,  if  not  all  ol 
it,  was  unnecessary,  and  that  I  need  not  have  worked  so 
hard,  for  when  I  went  away  I  could  not  help  noticing 
that  everything  got  along  about  as  usual,  and  that  nobody 
missed  me. 

I  was  thinking  this  over  one  morning,  and  wishing  I 
could  get  sick  —  I  was  always  singularly  strong  and  ro 
bust  —  or  that  the  office  would  burn  down,  so  that  I 
could  get  a  rest  from  my  distasteful  work,  when  the  light 
at  the  open  door  was  completely  shut  out,  and  Big  Adam 
came  in.  I  did  not  know  he  was  in  the  vicinity,  and  was 
surprised  to  see  him.  He  seemed  in  very  good  spirits,  and, 
sitting  down,  began  looking  through  his  pockets  for  a 
note  he  said  he  carried  for  me.  After  he  had  found  it, 
and  given  it  to  me,  and  while  I  was  looking  curiously  at 
the  envelope  —  it  was  from  Agnes  —  wondering  what 
was  the  occasion  for  sending  it  in  this  unusual  fashion, 
Big  Adam  put  his  finger  in  his  mouth,  drew  it  out  sud 
denly  in  such  a  manner  as  to  make  a  sound  like  the  draw 
ing  of  a  cork,  and  then,  thumping  his  jaws  slowly  while 
he  extended  his  lips,  apparently  poured  out  a  liberal  drink 
of  liquor. 

The  contents  of  the  letter  were  surprising  enough :  — 

DEAR  NED, —  Mother  died  early  this  morning,  after  a  short 
illness.  I  shall  esteem  it  as  a  great  favor  if  you  will  attend  the 
(oneral  to-morrow  morning  at  ten  o'clock. 

Your  sorrowing  friend, 

AGNES. 

Big  Adam  seemed  to  be  very  much  offended  when  1 
looked  up  from  reading  the  note  with  a  serious  face,  aa 
ne  evidently  expected  that  I  would  be  greatly  pleased,  ai 
He  was,  but  as  if  to  say  that  if  I  would  not  drink  with  him 
*ver  his  good  fortune,  he  would  drink  alone,  he  pulled 


268  THE  STOKY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

another  cork,  and  poured  out  the  liquor  in  very  slow  and 
distinct  gurgles. 

"  I  did  n't  suspect  my  good  luck,"  Big  Adam  gaid,  see 
ing  my  inquiring  look,  "until  Agnes  woke  me  up  this 
morning,  and  said  the  old  missus  was  dead,  and  would  n't 
I  please  carry  the  note  to  you.  I  immediately  dressed  up 
in  my  best  and  started.  I  think  I  never  enjoyed  a  ride 
more.  It  was  equal  to  an  excursion.  I  hope  thert.  is  no 
mistake  about  it." 

Big  Adam  was  about  to  draw  another  cork,  when  I 
inquired  if  Mrs.  Deming  had  been  ill  long. 

"  About  a  week  I  should  say,  and  she  kept  them  about 
her  night  and  day  to  jaw  at,  occasionally  sending  for  me. 
Several  times  she  came  down  stairs,  but  no  more  dried 
up  than  usual,  so  none  of  us  thought  anything  unusual 
the  matter.  She  was  always  complaining  about  some 
thing  or  other,  and  although  she  was  undoubtedly  bad  off 
this  time,  we  didn't  believe  it.  We  thought  she  was 
only  pretending,  to  make  us  trouble,  for  she  fooled  us  sc 
much  that  I  have  an  idea  they  were  all  very  much  sur 
prised  when  they  found  her  dead  at  last.  It  was  by  the 
merest  accident  that  Agnes  and  Biggs  were  at  home.  It 
will  be  a  great  day  for  me  to-morrow.  I  am  to  drive  the 
remains  to  the  graveyard." 

I  could  not  impress  Big  Adam  with  the  gravity  of  the 
occasion,  and  after  telling  him  that  I  would  go  over  to 
Smoky  Hill  in  the  afternoon,  he  went  out  into  town,  but 
returned  every  little  while  with  packages  of  pickles, 
cloves,  confectionery,  crackers,  etc.,  which  he  spread  out 
on  my  table  and  devoured  with  the  greatest  relish,  pre 
cisely  as  if  he  were  at  a  pic-nic.  Usually  he  was  followed 
by  great  troupes  of  boys,  whom  he  hired  to  swear  witt 
kia  pickles  and  confectionery. 

While  he  was  out  on  the  porch,  I  heard  him  say  to  on* 


A  CURSING  MATCH.  269 

^f  thorn  that  he  had  n't  an  enemy  in  the  world,  but  il 
he  had,  he  would  like  to  hear  the  boy  curse  him,  for  up 
to  that  time  he  had  won  all  the  prizes  with  his  dreadful 
oaths  and  was  the  raggedest  and  dirtiest  of  the  lot.  tie 
was  arranging  for  a  fight  between  two  of  them,  when  I 
mildly  objected  to  it,  whereupon  Big  Adam  laughed  with 
hoarse  good  humor,  and  said  that  while  he  did  n't  know 
of  an  enemy,  he  might  have  one,  and  gave  the  wicked 
boy  a  pickle  and  a  caramel  to  curse  him,  or  her,  as  the 
case  might  be.  The  young  scoundrel  promptly  responded 
with  the  vilest  language  I  had  ever  heard,  and  Big  Adam 
laughed  so  loudly  that  I  thought  the  house  would  fall 
down,  declaring  that  the  boy  was  a  "  captain."  I  knew 
what  he  was  about,  but  he  seemed  to  be  enjoying  himself 
so  much  that  I  did  not  interfere  again.  At  last  he  said 
he  was  certain  the  boy's  curses  had  killed  his  enemy 
and  he  called  upon  all  of  them  to  give  three  cheers, 
which  they  did,  Big  Adam  joining  in  like  a  steamboat 
whistle. 

In  the  afternoon  I  drove  over  to  the  Smoky  Hill  coun 
try,  leaving  Big  Adam  to  follow  at  his  leisure,  as  he 
showed  a  disposition  to  dissipate  until  night,  and  after 
arriving  at  Mr.  Biggs',  I  put  the  horses  away  in  the  stable 
I  had  become  familiar  with  on  my  first  visit  to  the  place, 
the  stalls  of  which  were  still  oozy  and  wet,  and  went  up 
to  the  house. 

Although  I  disliked  to  disturb  the  quiet  of  the  place, 
I  was  compelled  to  ring  the  bell,  for  there  was  no  other 
way  of  attracting  attention,  and  after  a  little  while  Agnes 
came  to  open  the  door  Instead  of  speaking  to  me,  she 
burst  out  crying,  and,  in  involuntary  pity  for  her  distress, 
I  took  her  in  my  arms,  to  which  she  made  no  resistance, 
but  sobbed  softly  as  I  tried  to  comfort  her  with  pitying 
irords.  I  did  not  even  think  of  my  arms  being  about  her. 


270  THE  STORY   OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

/ 

or  that  her  head  rested  on  my  shoulder,  and  for  the  first 
time  in  several  years  I  felt  natural  in  her  presence. 

From  where  we  stood  in  the  hall  I  could  see  through 
an  open  door  a  plain  coffin,  supported  at  each  end  with  a 
chair,  in  the  room  where  I  had  sat  with  Biggs  on  my  first 
visit  to  the  house.  I  was  impressed  that  it  held  a  friend 
less  body,  for  the  coffin  was  not  ornamented  in  any  way, 
and  had  evidently  been  hurriedly  made  by  a  country 
carpenter.  The  top  was  shut  down,  as  though  there  were 
no  friends  anxious  to  look  frequently  at  the  face,  and  for 
the  first  time  I  felt  sympathy  for  the  dead.  It  was  no 
doubt  very  absurd  in  me,  but  I  had  almost  expected  to 
find  the  family  in  good  spirits  on  my  arrival,  for  I  had 
never  had  a  kindly  thought  for  Mrs.  Deming  in  my  life. 
Her  brother  never  mentioned  her  at  all ;  her  only  child 
did  not,  except  when  it  was  necessary,  and  Big  Adam 
had  told  me  so  much  of  her  disagreeable  qualities  that  I 
was  very  much  prejudiced  against  her,  but  when  I  found 
that  no  one  but  members  of  her  own  family  were  there 
during  her  sickness  and  death,  I  felt  kindly  toward  her 
memory,  and  thought  that  Big  Adam  had  certainly  mis 
represented  her.  The  distress  of  Agnes,  which  continued 
after  we  were  seated  in  the  room  where  the  coffin  was, 
also  convinced  me  there  must  have  been  some  good  in 
the  dead  woman,  and  as  the  room  began  to  grow  dark 
from  the  going  down  of  the  sun,  I  thought  that  her  life 
had  been  a  night,  which  I  hoped  would  be  followed  by  a 
glorious  morning. 

I  heard  while  at  the  house  —  it  may  have  been  from 
her  old  enemy,  who  returned  from  town  in  the  course  of 
the  night,  whistling  all  the  wild  airs  I  had  ever  heard  — 
that  the  family  had  not  a  single  acquaintance  in  the  neigh- 
borhood,  and  that  no  one  came  to  the  house,  except  a 
farmer  occasionally  to  see  Mr.  Biggs  on  business ;  that  thf 


BIGGS  ON  LIFE.  271 

people  all  belie  red  Mrs.  Deming  to  be  a  witch,  and  thai 
they  kept  horse-shoes  and  charms  in  their  houses  from 
dread  of  her.  Although  many  of  them  knew  and  admired 
pretty  Agnes,  they  believed  she  had  been  stolen  by  Mrs. 
Deming  when  very  young,  and  were  always  expecting 
some  one  to  arrive  and  claim  her. 

From  an  occasional  noise  overhead,  I  understood  that 
Mr.  Biggs  and  the  family  were  up  stairs,  but  none  of  them 
appearing,  I  volunteered  to  remain  up  during  the  night  to 
watch.  Agnes  gratefully  accepted  the  offer,  and  as  I  sat 
there  trying  to  read  after  her  disappearance,  I  could  tel] 
when  each  one  of  the  eight  children  was  put  to  bed.  At 
last  I  heard  the  cradle,  which  had  been  going  constantly 
up  to  that  time,  stop,  and  I  knew  the  baby,  the  last  one, 
had  been  disposed  of.  Therefore  I  was  not  surprised  that 
soon  after  Mr.  Biggs  came  softly  into  the  room,  quite 
elegantly  dressed,  in  slippers  and  gown,  though  he  seemed 
very  much  depressed.  He  bowed  to  me  patronizingly,  as 
much  as  to  say  that  few  men  could  look  as  interesting  in 
grief  as  he  did,  and  after  standing  before  me  a  moment  to 
consider  the  matter,  took  hold  of  my  hand  and  shook  it 
sideways,  though  I  was  accustomed  to  shake  up  and  down 
As  he  walked  around  the  room  with  his  hands  clasped 
behind  him,  I  wondered  whether  I  should  be  compelled  to 
take  the  accustomed  dose  of  philosophy,  and  I  soon  saw 
that  I  should,  for,  as  he  walked,  he  meditated ;  this  was 
his  usual  way  before  attacking  me.  Coming  over  to  me 
presently  in  a  manner  indicating  that  he  had  long  been 
waiting  for  opportunity  to  discourse  on  the  shortness  of 
iif 0,  and  th  3  presence  of  the  coffin  afforded  it,  he  seated 
Himself,  and  abruptly  inquired :  — 

"What  is  life?" 

I  knew  I  was  not  expected  to  reply,  therefore  I  did  not 
give  him  my  views  on  the  somewhat  complex  question 
Mid  he  soon  went  on :  — 


272  THE  STOKY    OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

"Taking  a  man,  for  example,  when  it  is  first  known 
that  he  is  to  have  an  existence,  his  mother  cries,  and  his 
father  says  he  would  n't  have  had  it  happen  for  the  world, 
or  for  fifty  thousand  dollars,  although  he  may  not  have  a 
dollar  he  can  truthfully  call  his  own.  After  a  season  of 
piling  his  clothes  all  in  one  place  at  night  on  the  part  of 
the  coming  man's  father,  and  grief  and  suffering  on  the 
part  of  his  mother,  he  is  finally  born,  and  the  women  of 
the  neighborhood  come  in  to  see  which  one  of  his  parents 
he  resembles,  although  it  should  be  known  beforehand 
that  he  will  be  like  the  uglier  one  in  face  and  disposition. 
This  may  ALWAYS  be  depended  upon;  it  NEVER  fails. 
When  he  is  a  month  old,  or  on  the  first  regular  bill-day 
after  his  birth,  his  father  quarrels  with  the  doctor  for 
bringing  him  into  the  world  at  all,  and  pays  the  price  in 
great  anger,  and  under  protest,  vowing  that  he  will  never 
again  give  the  old  quack  opportunity  to  rob  him.  When 
he  is  three  or  four  months  old,  his  father  and  mother 
quarrel  as  to  whether  he  shall  be  named  for  her  people  or 
his  folks.  This  settled,  he  is  attacked  with  colic,  followed 
in  rapid  succession  by  the  numerous  distressing  complaints 
which  nobody  ever  escaped.  After  this  comes  his  boy 
hood,  which  he  always  remembers  as  being  particularly 
disagreeable,  as  he  never  gets  enough  to  eat,  and  is  con 
stantly  being  found  fault  with  and  whipped.  At  last  he 
is  started  to  school,  where  a  man  who  is  a  tyrant  because 
be  is  not  a  lawyer  (or  a  woman  who  is  cross  because  she 
8  not  married)  endures  him  during  the  hours  of  the  day 
when  the  outside  is  most  attractive.  From  this  he  runs 
away,  and  serves  an  apprenticeship  with  the  world,  mak 
ing  so  many  mistakes,  and  doing  so  many  foolish  things, 
that  he  is  crestfallen  the  remainder  of  his  life.  Then  he 
marries  the  wrong  woman,  and  has  the  experience  of  hw 
lather  over  again,  meanwhile  working  like  a  slave  to  gel 


DECEASED.  27S 

iomething  ahead.  But  he  does  not  succeed,  as  lie  has  a 
faculty  of  doing  that  which  he  ought  not  to  do,  although 
he  strives  very  earnestly  to  become  a  great  man,  and  make 
his  father  ashamed  of  himself,  and  after  a  life  of  misery, 
a  boy  comes  out  of  his  front  door  on  a  morning  after  a 
stormy  and  windy  night,  and  hangs  crape  on  the  knob, 
If  there  is  a  newspaper  in  the  town  where  he  lives,  he  if 
given  a  magnificent  column,  to  induce  the  relatives  to  buy 
large  numbers  of  extra  copies  to  send  away.  The  next 
day  a  hearse  and  six  gentlemen  in  black  clothes  and  white 
cotton  gloves  appear  at  his  front  gate.  The  neighbors 
come  straggling  in  to  see  what  the  mourners  will  do,  and 
an  hour  after  that  a  surly  sexton,  who  is  wondering  who 
will  pay  him,  begins  to  rattle  clods  on  his  coffin,  where 
upon  the  carriages  on  the  outer  edge  begin  to  drive  hur 
riedly  away,  as  if  too  much  time  had  been  spent  with  him 
already,  and  in  a  few  minutes  he  is  an  inhabitant  of  the 
silent  city  whose  residents  quietly  wait  to  be  gathered  as 
brands  for  the  burning.  If  he  happened  to  be  possessed 
of  an  extra  farm,  or  a  store,  or  ready  money,  his  afflicted 
relatives  prove  that  he  had  been  crazy  several  years  before 
his  death,  that  they  may  divide  his  effects  to  suit  them 
selves,  and  which  they  afterwards  spend  in  ribald  and 
riotous  living.  The  principal  merit  of  this  brief  sketch,  as 
the  newspaper  writers  say,  is  its  entire  truthfulness.  De 
ceased  " —  he  inclined  his  head  towards  the  coffin  —  "  had 
an  experience  like  that  I  have  mentioned,  except  that  she 
was  a  woman.  Peace  to  her  dust." 

He  spoke  of  his  sister  as  "  Deceased  "  as  though  that 
had  been  her  name,  instead  of  Maggie,  or  Jennie,  or  what 
ever  it  really  was. 

"Now  that  she  is  Up  There,"  Mr.  Biggs  continued, 
niter  a  short  silence,  waving  his  right  hand  toward  the 
,  *«  I  do  not  care  if  I  mention  that  Deceased  had  au 


274  THE  STOKY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

unhappy  disposition.  She  had  that  tendency  when  a  verj 
uttle  girl  (being  an  angel  now,  she  will  recognize  what  1 
am  saying  as  the  truth,  and  commend  me  for  it),  and  wai 
usually  disagreeable  to  those  around  her.  Whether  her 
complaint  was  poor  health  or  disappointed  hopes  I  do 
not  know,  but  as  a  man  who  believes  that  it  is  best  to  tell 
the  truth  at  all  hazards,  I  confess  to  you  she  died  friend 
less.  If  there  is  not  secret  joy  in  this  house  that  she  is  dead, 
then  my  philosophy  avails  me  nothing,  and  I  am  as  a  ship 
on  an  unknown  sea  without  rudder  or  compass." 

The  expression  of  "  a  ship  without  rudder  or  compass  " 
seemed  to  please  him,  for  he  repeated  it  quite  eloquently. 

"  Speaking  of  ships  reminds  me  of  my  late  brother-in- 
law,  whom  I  have  never  seen.  When  he  promised  to 
marry  the  clay  which  reposes  in  yon  coffin,  I  was  away 
from  home  —  the  exact  facts  are  that  I  was  chased  away 
by  my  father,  a  quiet  and  honest  worker  in  wood  who 
objected  to  my  noise  and  lying  —  but  for  a  reason  which 
seems  to  actuate  all  fools,  I  wrote  home  that  I  should 
never  be  entirely  content  until  I  had  murdered  the  man 
who  had  bewitched  my  sister.  I  can't  tell  at  this  time 
what  caused  me  to  do  it,  unless  it  was  knowledge  of  a 
custom  that  whenever  a  giri  marries,  her  brothers  and 
father  make  fools  of  themselves  (and  at  that  time  I  was 
not  above  custom),  for  Captain  Deniing  was  a  very  worthy 
young  man.  I  think  he  was  greatly  disgusted  at  the 
absurd  manner  in  which  we  carried  on,  and  if  his  spirit 
has  been  released  from  the  deep,  and  is  hovering  around 
Jus  place,  I  desire  that  he  hear  my  declaration  that  I  am 
tehamed  of  myself." 

The  little  man  was  dramatic  again,  and  waved  hit 
bands  downward  to  represent  the  deep,  and  upward  to 
represent  the  heavens. 

"None  of  UB  liked  the  girl,"  he  surprised  me  by  COD 


A  DISGRACED  FAMILY.  275 

fesfiing,  "  and  I  think  that  there  was  some  difcgatisf action 
that  she  did  not  marry,  and  rid  my  father  of  her  keeping, 
but  the  moment  there  was  a  prospect  she  WOULD  marry., 
we  all  began  to  object,  though  I  cannot  imagine  why. 
At  that  time  I  was  working  in  a  stable  in  a  town  in  the 
West,  and  I  wrote  to  Captain  Deming  that  only  pressing 
business  engagements  prevented  my  coming  on  and 
snatching  the  girl  from  his  relentless  clutches,  advising 
my  father  at  the  same  time  by  letter  not  to  scruple  to 
burn,  shoot,  or  stab  to  save  the  family  from  impending 
disgrace.  I  believe  he  did  sharpen  up  his  hatchet  and  saw 
with  a  vague  idea  of  sawing  the  Deming  body  in  two, 
and  then  cutting  it  to  pieces.  I  am  also  informed  that 
he  said  in  the  hearing  of  the  Captain  one  evening  that  he 
would  rather  see  the  girl  in  her  grave,  and  when  the 
ceremony  was  finally  performed,  he  made  himself  still 
further  ridiculous  by  remarking  to  my  mother  in  the 
presence  of  the  guests  that  it  was  all  her  fault." 

He  was  apparently  greatly  amused  by  the  recollection 
of  this  ridiculous  circumstance,  and  stopped  to  laugh  to 
himself,  although  I  thought  it  was  only  an  expression  of 
satisfaction  that  he  was  finally  rid  of  Mrs.  Deming. 
Perhaps  he  had  been  wanting  to  laugh  all  day,  and  was 
now  telling  me  jokes  as  an  excuse. 

"  I  made  a  great  spectacle  of  myself  in  the  town  where 
I  lived,  by  going  about  in  a  dejected  and  wretched  con 
dition,  and  saying  that  the  Princess,  my  sister,  had  mar 
ried  a  low  fellow  who  followed  the  sea,  and  a  few  months 
after  that,  when  I  was  anxious  to  boast  of  Captain 
Deming,  my  brother-in-law,  I  was  compelled  to  move  to 
another  place,  as  the  two  stories  would  not  fit  iD 
the  same  town.  For  this  reason  I  went  further  west,  and 
finally  turned  up  in  the  Smoky  Hills.  I  believe  I  nevei 
told  you  before  how  I  happened  to  come  west." 


276  THE  STORY   OP  A   COUNTRY   TOWN. 

Had  the  little  old  woman  burst  off  the  lid,  and  sat  up 
in  the  coffin  to  protest,  I  could  not  have  been  more  BUT- 
prised  than  I  was. 

"Captain  Deming  turned  out  to  be  a  very  snperioi 
man,"  Mr.  Biggs  continued,  reflectively,  "  and  Deceased 
te  be  a  very  inferior  woman,  judging  from  the  evidence 
now  at  hand,  but  for  several  years  there  was  a  traditioL 
in  my  family  that  she  had  thrown  herself  away." 

My  companion  seemed  to  enjoy  telling  the  truth  about 
himself  as  much  as  I  had  already  noticed  he  delighted  in 
telling  it  of  others,  and  while  wondering  what  family 
confidence  he  would  next  let  me  into,  he  said :  — 

"  Although  in  my  youth  I  had  a  great  deal  to  say  about 
the  surprising  respectability  of  my  family,  they  were 
really  a  very  unpromising  crowd.  While  none  of  them 
sver  walked  between  the  minister  and  the  sheriff  to  a 
hanging,  or  was  ever  locked  up  for  theft,  none  of  them 
amounted  to  anything,  and  I  am  glad  that  they  are  all  in 
ignorance  as  to  where  I  am,  for  I  never  want  to  see  any 
of  them  again.  I  am  bad  enough,  but  they  are  worse. 
My  favorite  uncle,  the  Duke,  was  a  barber  in  the  town 
where  I  was  raised ;  his  sister,  the  Duchess,  was  a  dis« 
agreeable  old  maid  who  existed  entirely  on  her  respecta 
bility,  for  she  spent  her  time  in  visiting  those  of  her 
relatives  who  had  houses,  and  in  boasting  of  it  (she  was 
the  laziest  woman  I  ever  knew  in  my  life,  by  the  way)  ; 
ny  grandfather,  the  Count,  was  a  market  gardener,  and 
there  was  an  Earl  on  my  mother's  side  who  was  a  fire 
man  ;  and  the  heir  to  all  his  possessions  rode  horses  at 
races  because  he  was  old  and  little.  The  others  I  have 
forgotten,  and  I  am  sincerely  grateful  to  my  memory  fof 
the  favor." 

It  was  very  late,  and  as  I  did  not  relish  the  thought  o< 
remaining  alone  in  the  room  with  the  coffin,  I  was  sin 


HONESTY   IS  THE  BEST  POLICY.  277 

eerely  obliged  to  iny  companion  for  his  company,  and  wai 
pleased  when  I  saw  that  he  had  more  to  say :  — 

"  N  aturally  I  am  a  great  liar."  I  tned  to  look  aston 
ished,  as  he  intended  I  should,  but  I  am  afraid  I  did  not. 
w- 1  did  not  know  until  a  few  years  ago  that  honesty  wag 
the  best  policy,  and  as  a  boy  and  young  man  I  never  told 
the  truth,  even  when  it  would  do  as  well  as  a  falsehood, 
but  of  late  years  I  deal  in  nothing  but  facts,  truths,  and 
principles.  I  go  even  farther  than  that :  I  rake  up  the 
past  to  find  truths  that  might  be  kept  secret,  for  I  now 
enjoy  honesty  as  I  formerly  enjoyed  dishonesty.  The 
world  is  full  of  men  like  me  in  the  particular  that  they 
tell  the  truth  for  no  other  reason  than  that  experience  has 
taught  them  it  is  best  to  do  it.  I  know  hundreds  of  men 
naturally  thieves  who  are  scrupulously  honest  for  the 
same  reason,  and  there  is  a  great  deal  in  the  saying  that 
honesty  is  the  best  policy.  It  cost  me  several  years  of 
disagreeable  experience  to  make  the  discovery,  but  you 
may  depend  upon  it  that  honesty  is  the  best  policy." 

I  had  never  heard  any  one  accuse  Mr.  Biggs  of  having 
reformed  except  Mr.  Biggs  himself,  for  it  was  generally 
understood  that  he  was  thoroughly  unscrupulous  in  every 
thing,  and  the  people  would  no  more  trust  him  for  money 
than  they  would  take  his  word. 

"If  I  lived  on  a  lonely  island,  without  a  neighbor,  I 
would  do  right  in  everything,  for  the  reason  that  even 
under  such  circumstances  honesty  would  be  the  best  pol 
icy.  It  pays  better  to  be  honest  to  yourself,  in  fact,  than 
to  your  neighbor.  It 's  a  pity  these  facts  are  not  more 
generally  known  and  accepted,  for  we  should  then  have  a 
very  different  world  ;  I  am  ashamed  of  it  as  it  is." 

Ho  walked  out  of  the  room  soon  after,  and  left  me 
alone,  where  I  remained  in  great  terror  until  an  hour  01 
'wo  after  midnight,  wher  fortunately  I  went  to  sleep  in 


278  THE  STORY  OF  A  OOUNTBY  TOWIT. 

my  chair,  and  did  not  awaken  until  Agnes  came  down  if 
the  morning. 

The  funeral  was  without  incident,  except  that,  very 
much  to  the  surprise  of  everybody,  Damon  Barker  ap 
peared  soon  after  the  procession  started,  and  walked  rev« 
erently  behind  the  wagon  in  which  Mr.  Biggs,  Agnes,  and 
myself  rode,  Big  Adam  driving  ahead  with  the  coffin. 
Mrs.  Biggs  and  the  children  remained  at  the  house  for  some 
reason,  and  1  did  not  see  any  of  them  during  my  visit.  A 
few  neighbors  appeared  at  the  grave,  and  threw  in  the  dirt 
after  the  body  had  been  lowered,  as  I  believe  they  had 
thrown  it  out,  but  none  of  them  came  to  the  house.  There 
was  no  funeral  service,  but  as  soon  as  we  arrived  at  the 
place  selected  for  the  burial,  the  coffin  was  put  down  and 
covered  up,  after  which  we  returned  to  the  house,  and  threw 
open  the  shutters.  Although  Barker  was  invited  to  return 
with  us,  he  politely  refused,  and  went  directly  home  from 
the  church,  which  was  located  within  a  few  rods  of  the 
place  where  Biggs  had  opened  the  store,  and  where  the 
post-office  was  still  kept. 

In  the  course  of  the  afternoon  it  was  arranged  that  Ag 
nes  should  return  home  with  me,  and  live  there  in  future, 
as  ny  mother  had  long  been  anxious  to  have  her  do,  and 
during  the  drive  to  Twin  Mounds,  little  was  said,  for  nei 
ther  was  in  the  mood  for  talking.  I  can  only  remember 
of  that  afternoon  that  when  we  arrived  at  home  my  mother 
was  waiting,  and  that  for  the  first  time  some  one  seemed 
considerate  of  Agnes;  for  my  mother  caressed  her  ten 
derly,  and  led  her,  weeping,  into  the  home. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

A  LETTER  FROM  JO. 

MY  DEAR  OLD  FRIEND,  —  I  am  much  alarmed  when 
I  realize  that  I  am  becoming  a  thinking  man,  like 
your  father,  and  that  my  trouble  will  some  time  become  so 
great  that  I  shall  disgrace  myself  and  everyone  connected 
with  me.  Since  you  were  here  last  I  have  done  little  else 
than  think,  and  I  have  been  very  lonely,  for  I  have  no  com 
panion  now.  I  have  not  spoken  to  Mateel  since  you  went 
away,  except  when  it  was  necessary,  and  that  has  not  been 
a  frequent  circumstance.  This  adds  to  my  wretchedness, 
for  I  feel  contemptible  that  I  am  not  able  to  be  to  all  ap 
pearance  what  I  always  was.  I  have  tried  to  be,  but  to  no 
purpose,  so  I  have  given  it  up.  I  cannot  say  that  I  wish  I 
could  forget,  for  then  I  should  feel  that  I  was  the  man  she 
described  in  the  letter.  I  am  a  shrinking,  dejected  coward, 
which  I  never  was  before,  and  I  think  it  is  because  I  am 
not  treating  Mateel  as  I  should,  though  I  solemnly  assert 
that  I  cannot  do  differently. 

A  man  who  mistreats  a  woman  becomes  a  coward  as  I 
am,  and  I  accept  the  ignominy  as  my  punishment.  I  was 
bold  as  a  lion  when  we  were  happy  together,  and  could 
look  any  man  in  the  face ;  but  I  cannot  now,  for  I  think 
that  everyone  who  looks  at  me  is  an  accuser  that  I  an: 
worrying  and  fretting  a  helpless  woman,  which  I  believe 
to  be  the  meanest  crime  of  which  a  man  can  be  guilty.  I 
eannot  but  acknowledge  the  accusation,  though  it  ii  not 

270 


280  THE  8TOBY   OF    £   CCTJNTRY  TOWN. 

intentional.     I  am  low  and  despicable  in  spite  of  all  I  can 
do,  and  I  can  think  of  no  remedy  for  it. 

I  continue  to  make  new  discoveries  which  add  to  my 
wretchedness.  A  long  while  before  we  were  married, 
Mateel  gave  me  a  book  full  of  pretty  love  stories,  and  I 
valued  it  highly,  because  many  of  the  passages  were  un 
derscored,  with  notes  on  the  margin  indorsing  the  senti 
ment.  The  stories  were  very  pretty,  and  I  read  them  a 
great  deal,  but  I  have  discovered  that  the  book  was  origi 
nally  given  to  Bragg ;  that  it  was  returned  when  he  tired 
of  her,  and  that  the  pretty  passages  were  marked  for  him. 
It  was  given  to  me,  no  doubt,  because  it  happened  to  be 
convenient,  and  no  one  else  wanted  it.  Mateel,  with  the 
candor  which  I  have  come  to  dread,  admitted  it,  though 
reluctantly,  on  being  questioned. 

One  of  the  romances  to  which  I  refer  tells  of  a  lady  who 
had  quarrelled  with  her  lover,  and  in  a  pique  married  a 
cold,  heartless  man,  who  had  no  other  good  quality  than 
that  he  was  kind,  and  successful,  and  the  story  is  her  rev 
erie.  After  seven  or  eight  years  she  accidentally  meets 
her  old  lover,  and  confesses  that  she  loves  him  yet,  and 
has  loved  him  all  the  while,  though  she  is  kind  enough  to 
refer  to  her  husband  as  a  dear,  good  soul.  This  was  par 
ticularly  full  of  pencil  marks,  as  though  it  aptly  stated  her 
case,  and  I  think  that  after  she  knew  a  separation  with 
Bragg  was  imminent,  she  was  anxious  to  let  him  know 
that  her  future  would  be  something  like  that. 

Another  one  tells  of  an  eccentric  bachelor  who  meets  a  pale 
but  strikingly  beautiful  girl  on  the  street  on  a  cold  wintei'«s 
night.  He  once  loved  a  face  like  that,  and  interested  him 
self  in  the  girl.  In  course  of  time  it  developed  that  the 
bachelor  had  been  engaged  to  the  girl's  mother,  and  that 
they  were  separated  by  some  sort  of  an  unfortunate  mi* 
take,  and  she  married  a  man  who  was  willing  to  §up 


THE  HAUNTED  CAVE.  281 

port  her  in  her  grief,  but  who  unfortunately  died,  and 
could  no  longer  feed  her  while  she  mourned.  Humiliated 
and  broken,  she  refused  to  return  to  her  old  friends,  but 
lived  with  her  only  daughter  in  poverty,  talking  a  great 
deal  of  her  lover,  but  not  a  word  of  the  poor  fellow  who 
had  been  her  husband.  When  she  finds  death  approach 
ing  she  writes  a  letter  to  her  lover,  consigning  the  girl  to 
his  care,  and  the  letter  of  course  falls  into  his  hands,  which 
affects  him  so  much  that  he  surprised  his  friends  by  mar 
rying  the  daughter.  I  suppose  the  inference  is  that  Ma- 
teel,  acknowledging  her  own  weakness,  desired  Bragg  to 
understand  that  she  would  only  consent  to  marry  another 
man  with  the  hope  of  rearing  a  daughter  good  enough 
for  him. 

There  have  been  a  few  sweet  chords  of  music  in  my  life 
(a  very,  very  few,  and  simple  in  construction),  but  while 
never  complete  in  my  boyhood,  I  have  listened  to  them  in 
my  lonely  hours  with  a  great  deal  of  pleasure.  They  were 
the  whisperings  of  hope ;  of  happiness  which  I  had  never 
known,  but  now  the  familiar  air  scarcely  begins  until  it  is 
lost  in  the  yells  of  demons  and  the  harsh  laughter  of 
devils.  I  do  not  know  whether  I  read  it,  or  dreamed  it, 
but  there  was  once  a  deep  cave  said  to  be  haunted.  The 
people  who  went  there  without  lights,  and  did  not  speak 
for  a  long  while,  heard  the  beginning  of  the  most  delicious 
gymphony,  as  sweet  and  perfect  as  the  music  of  the  choirs 
in  heaven,  but  suddenly  it  was  all  lost  in  coarse  uproar 
and  laughter,  as  if  the  Devil  and  his  imps  were  flushed 
with  wine  at  a  oanquet,  and  were  telling  each  other  of  the 
follies  of  men,  to  laugh  at  them.  This  dreadful  tumult 
continued  until  the  music  was  quite  forgotten,  and  no  one 
could  remember  the  strain,  although  they  all  said  it  was 
very  tender  and  beautiful.  Sometimes  the  people  who 
went  there  would  hear  neither  the  music  nor  the  tumult 


282  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTBY  TOWN. 

which  always  broke  into  it,  hut  this  always  happened 
when  the  night  was  fine,  and  the  visitors  noisy  and  in  good 
spirits.  But  every  dark  and  threatening  night,  when  the 
wind  came  hurrying  down  from  the  north  to  be  present  at 
the  destruction  threatened,  those  who  went  into  the  cave 
always  heard  the  music,  and  it  was  notably  tender  and 
touching  on  such  occasions,  but  the  devils  broke  into  it 
more  quickly,  and  were  hoarser  and  louder  in  their  laugh, 
ing  and  jeering. 

Everything  conspires  against  me  now;  even  Mateel'g 
religion  torments  me.  I  can  think  of  nothing  that  cannot 
in  some  way  be  construed  into  misery.  Mateel's  hope 
of  heaven  is  a  hope  of  torment  for  me.  She  knows  my 
unbelief,  and  must  be  convinced  that,  if  she  is  right,  the 
years  of  her  happiness  in  the  future  can  only  be  measured 
by  the  years  of  my  suffering,  but  she  has  no  other  com 
fort  to  offer  than  the  hope  that  I  shall  be  "  saved."  How 
natural  it  is  to  disguise  fear  with  hope !  I  would  not  re 
gard  it  as  a  kindness  in  a  man  who  saw  me  drowning  to 
stand  peacefully  on  the  bank,  and  hope  I  would  take  hold 
of  a  straw,  and  save  myself,  but  I  should  admire  him  if  he 
jumped  in,  and  pulled  me  out.  Hope  is  often  nothing 
more  than  an  excuse  for  incapacity  and  for  mistakes,  as 
we  hope,  in  case  of  an  accident  caused  by  carelessness,  that 
nothing  serious  will  result,  or  as  we  hope,  when  we  do  not 
do  our  duty,  that  everything  will  turn  out  fortunately 
anyway. 

If  my  love  for  Mateel  had  never  been  interrupted,  and 
I  had  her  faith,  and  she  my  doubts,  I  should  go  mad  from 
thinking  of  her  future.  I  would  make  my  interest  in  hei 
impending  fate  so  great  tfiat  she  would  become  alarmed, 
and  be  rescued ;  or,  failing  in  that,  I  would  be  lost  with 
her.  I  would  not  own  a  faith  which  would  not  save  on€ 

loved,  and  whom  I  knew  to  be  honest  and  pure-minded 


THE  SKELETON  IN  THE  CLOSET.      283 

f  have  no  particular  fears  for  myself,  but,  knowing  Mateel'f 
belief  as  I  do,  I  am  hurt  at  her  indifference.  I  am  always 
thinking  —  really,  I  cannot  help  it,  much  as  I  try — that 
she  offers  up  her  prayers  for  Bragg,  and  that  to  be  r«v 
united  with  him  I  must  be  burned  up,  for  I  am  certain 
that  I  could  not  exist  with  him  comfortably  anywhere. 

I  take  a  kind  of  delight  in  finding  out  how  unfortunate 
I  am,  and  once  I  wrung  a  confession  from  her  that  she 
thought  it  extremely  probable  that  I  would  be  lost,  but 
that  all  knowledge  of  it  would  be  blotted  out  of  her 
memory,  and  forget  in  her  happiness  that  I  had  ever 
lived.  If  Mateel's  religion  turns  out  to  be  true,  I  think  it 
will  be  a  part  of  my  punishment  to  be  permitted  to  look 
into  heaven,  and  see  her  happy,  without  a  care  or  thought 
of  me.  I  don't  think  it  would  be  possible  to  save  such  a 
man,  but  it  may  become  necessary  to  properly  punish  my 
wickedness  to  place  Bragg  by  her  side,  in  Paradise,  that 
I  may  contemplate  them  walking  lovingly  together. 

The  skeleton  which  has  found  its  way  into  my  closet  is 
very  noisy  now.  I  think  some  one,  out  of  consideration 
for  me,  has  been  trying  to  chain  him  up,  but  he  has  broken 
loose,  and  drags  his  fetters  about  in  the  most  dismal  man 
ner.  Either  that,  or  he  has  company,  and  I  am  honored 
with  two  skeletons.  If  other  people  have  but  one,  I  think 
I  shall  eventually  have  two,  if  I  have  not  now,  and  be 
compelled  to  enlarge  my  closet.  I  have  occasionally 
courageously  unlocked  my  skeleton,  and  tried  to  look  him 
out  of  countenance,  but  he  is  so  indifferent,  and  I  am  so 
unhappy,  that  I  have  never  succeeded.  He  is  the  most 
impudent  skeleton  that  ever  took  up  an  abode  in  a  man's 
house  against  his  will,  and  its  grinning,  malicious  face  I 
cannot  lock  up,  for  it  follows  me  about  the  mill  at  my 
work,  and  walks  before  me  into  the  dark  cellar,  and  into 
the  lonely  loft.  Once  I  thought  I  saw  his  tracks  in  the 


284  THE  STOKY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

flour  dust,  but  I  found  it  was  only  where  my  unmanly 
tears  had  fallen.  After  I  have  attacked  him,  he  is  mor€ 
noisy  than  ever  at  night,  and  rattles  about  so  much  that  I 
acknowledge  his  power  by  thinking  my  disgrace  all  over, 
and  admitting  that  there  is  no  hope. 

The  affairs  of  men  are  so  small  that  I  wonder  they  can 
be  serious  about  them.  I  wonder  about  this  every  time  I 
meet  a  grave  and  thoughtful  man,  and  then  I  remember 
that  I  am  grave  and  thoughtful.  I  have  no  doubt  that,  if 
I  were  told  of  a  case  similar  to  my  own,  I  should  say  the 
man  ought  to  dismiss  it  without  a  curse,  and  never  think 
of  it  again,  but  somehow  I  cannot  do  it,  though  I  have 
tried  earnestly  and  honestly.  I  had  so  little  peace  and 
content  as  a  boy,  and  expected  so  much  from  my  mar 
riage,  that  I  cannot  resign  myself  to  a  life  without  hope 
and  without  happiness.  I  suppose  the  people  would 
laugh  at  my  troubles  if  they  knew  them,  and  I  call  their 
affairs  trivial,  so  that  altogether  we  have  a  very  con 
temptuous  opinion  of  each  other.  Many  of  those  who 
come  to  the  mill  look  at  me  curiously  already,  and  I  sup 
pose  it  is  being  said  that  I  am  queer,  or  that  I  am  subject 
to  fits  of  despondency,  which  is  the  first  symptom  of  a 
crazy  man.  Next  to  the  original  difficulty,  I  dread  most 
to  be  called  queer,  for  I  never  heard  it  said  of  a  man  J 
respected.  But  this  will  probably  be  added  to  my  other 
troubles,  for  when  once  a  man  becomes  involved  in 
trouble's  web,  everything  goes  against  him. 

I  am  only  unhappy  because  I  expected  the  home  I  built 
with  so  much  care  to  be  pleasant,  but  it  is  not.  1 
expected  no  more  than  this,  and  I  would  have  been  a 
willing  slave  to  insure  that  result,  but  there  is  not  the 
slightest  prospect  of  it  now.  Jo 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE   SEA   GIVES  UP   ITS  DEAD. 

MY  mother  was  never  strong,  and  her  health  seemed 
to  be  rapidly  failing,  but  she  was  perceptibly  re 
vived  by  the  presence  of  Agnes.  When  I  told  her  that 
Agnes  would  now  live  there  all  the  time,  and  never  go 
away  again,  she  expressed  great  pleasure,  and  for  days  was 
not  content  to  be  out  of  her  company,  but  followed  her 
slowly  around  the  house  as  she  went  about  her  work. 
We  were  like  three  children  again,  suddenly  released 
from  restraint,  but  when  we  spoke  in  the  evening  of  the 
happy  years  we  should  spend  together,  my  mother  became 
thoughful  at  once,  and  would  say  no  more  that  night. 

Her  step  was  slower  than  it  had  ever  been ;  and  she 
walked  more  feebly,  but  she  still  kept  up  the  lonely  vigils 
in  her  own  room  at  night,  and  the  light  was  always  burn 
ing,  casting  its  rays  across  the  deserted  street  like  a 
pitying  star.  If  I  became  restless  in  my  bed  from  think- 
fog  of  her  pale  face,  and  went  softly  down  the  stairs  to 
her  door,  I  found  her  quietly  seated  in  the  low  chair,  as  if 
waiting  for  a  step  in  the  street  and  a  hand  on  the  door. 
She  no  longer  came  to  my  room  at  night,  as  she  had  done 
when  we  were  alone,  but  she  apologized  for  it  once  be 
cause  of  growing  weakness,  and  believing  that  she 
Ireadcd  to  be  alone,  I  sometimes  lay  down  on  her  bed 
and  slept  there,  but  if  I  awoke  in  the  night,  I  found  hei 
in  the  old  corner,  with  her  head  bowed  low,  and  wrapped 
ID  deep  meditation. 


86  THE  STOKr  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

The  coming  of  Agnes  brightened  the  lonely  bouse, 
which  had  always  been  cold  and  cheerless,  as  if  it  were 
very  old,  and  were  inhabited  only  by  very  old  people, 
and  I  was  more  content  than  I  had  been,  until  I  remem 
bered  that  my  mother  was  slowly  dying  of  a  broken  heart. 
This  thought  came  to  me  whenever  we  were  spending  the 
evening  pleasantly  together,  and  often  I  went  away  to 
hide  my  tears.  When  I  talked  to  Agnes  about  it,  which 
I  often  did  before  and  after  she  came  there  to  live,  I  saw 
by  her  troubled  face  that  she  shared  my  fears,  and  that 
she,  too,  had  marked  the  faltering  steps  and  whitening 
hairs.  Though  we  resolved  over  and  over  again  to  do 
more  for  her  comfort  and  happiness,  and  be  more  watch  - 
ful  of  her,  she  was  always  just  the  same  —  silent  ana 
sorrowful,  with  a  look  in  her  white  face  of  worry  and 
sorrow.  Whenever  she  opened  a  door,  or  looked  into  a 
DOX  or  drawer,  she  seemed  to  find  something  to  remind 
ler  of  her  husband,  —  an  article  of  wearing  apparel,  a 
icrap  of  paper  on  which  he  had  written, —  and  this  she 
tept  in  her  hand,  and  carried  about,  holding  it  until  she 
",ook  her  place  in  the  low  chair  for  the  night,  where  it 
remained  the  subject  of  her  thoughts.  We  both  called 
aer  mother,  and  though  we  were  anxious  that  she  should 
sommend  us,  she  seemed  shy,  as  if  she  were  in  the  way, 
and  Agnes  told  me  that  once  when  she  put  her  hand 
lovingly  on  her  head,  and  said  we  were  good  children,  she 
did  it  timidly,  fearful  of  giving  offence.  She  still  slept  a 
little  during  the  day  —  or,  at  least,  she  would  darken  her 
room  when  no  one  was  around,  and  lie  down  —  but  we 
never  found  her  asleep  at  night,  and  believed  that  she 
never  left  her  chair. 

It  may  have  been  two  months  after  Agnes  came  there 
to  live,  when  we  were  sitting  together  one  evening,  and 
Agnes  was  telling  us  again  of  her  father,  of  which  shi 


CAPTAIN  DEMING.  287 

never  tired,  and  I  recollect  that  I  made  more  inquiries 
about  him  than  I  h*d  ever  done,  because  my  mother  waa 
much  interested  in  my  statement  that  men  sometime* 
came  back  after  an  absence  of  a  great  many  years,  and 
told  strange  stories  of  adventure.  I  had  no  idea  this 
was  true  of  Captain  Deming,  of  whose  death  there  had 
never  been  any  question,  but  my  mother  was  listening 
olosely,  and  I  recalled  several  instances  of  the  return  of 
those  given  up  for  dead. 

"  What  evidence  have  you,"  I  asked,  "  that  your  father 
is  dead,  other  than  that  he  never  came  back  ?  " 

Evidently  Agnes  had  no  thought  of  a  possibility  that 
he  was  alive,  for  though  she  immediately  became  grave 
and  thoughtful,  there  was  no  expression  of  hope  in  her 
earnest  face.  After  thinking  about  it  a  long  while,  she 
confessed  that  there  was  no  evidence  of  his  death  except 
that  he  had  never  been  heard  from,  which  was  the  brief 
etory  of  hundreds  who  had  been  drowned  at  sea. 

There  was  one  part  of  the  story  which  I  had  never 
before  heard,  though  probably  it  was  not  important. 
The  crew  which  her  father  had  shipped  at  Bradford  was 
discharged  on  reaching  the  first  port,  the  captain  claiming 
there  were  evidences  of  mutiny  among  them,  though  when 
they  returned  they  declared  that  never  were  men  more 
faithful  and  honest.  Since  that  time  neither  the  ship  nor 
its  captain  had  ever  been  heard  of,  and  the  returning 
sailors  believed  it  had  gone  down  because  of  the  shipping 
of  an  incompetent  crew.  Agnes  did  not  know,  nor  could 
the  sailors  who  came  back  to  Bradford  tell  her,  what  port 
the  vessel  loaded  for  when  they  were  discharged,  and  this 
•seined  so  strange  to  me  that  I  determined  to  insert  an 
advertisement  in  a  paper  published  in  a  sea  town,  and 
lolicit  information  from  the  captains  of  that  day.  Thii 
rould  require  a  long  time,  so  I  resolved  to  say  nothing  of 


288  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

my  intention,  though  I  had  little  hope  anything  would 
come  of  it.  I  found  that  Agnes  knew  little  about  the 
matter,  as  she  was  very  young  when  her  father  sailed 
away  never  to  return,  but  her  mother,  she  said,  had  made 
investigations  which  left  no  doubt  of  the  shipwreck  and 
death. 

My  mother  and  Agnes  were  sitting  together  at  the 
other  end  of  the  room,  while  I  was  facing  the  door  which 
led  into  the  hall,  and  into  the  street.  I  remember  these 
details  distinctly  because  the  ghostly  turn  the  talk  had 
taken  led  me  to  think  that  if  the  sea  should  give  up  its 
dead,  and  the  captain  of  the  "Agnes"  walk  in  dripping 
with  wet,  I  should  be  nearest  the  door  by  which  he  would 
enter.  Agnes  was  sitting  with  my  mother,  who  was 
quietly  stroking  her  hair,  and  as  I  looked  at  them,  I  won 
dered  if  there  were  two  wanderers  out  in  the  world  wearily 
tiavelling  toward  them,  or  whether  those  for  whom  they 
mourned  were  dead,  and  would  never  be  heard  from.  It 
was  the  merest  fancy,  for  I  have  since  tried  to  remember 
whether  I  believed  that  night  that  Captain  Deming  was 
alive,  or  that  my  father  would  ever  return,  and  I  have 
decided  that  I  had  no  real  belief  in  such  a  possibility. 

They  were  both  deeply  interested  in  what  I  was  saying, 
though  incredulous,  and  I  must  have  been  amusing  myself 
in  seeing  how  much  I  could  move  them,  though  I  had  no 
intention  of  being  cruel.  Perhaps  I  thought  hope  was 
pleasant,  even  if  it  had  no  foundation,  for  I  kept  on  in 
such  a  way  that  both  became  very  much  excited.  The 
wind  was  rising  outside,  and  when  it  rattled  at  the  doors 
and  windows  I  thought  it  sounded  as  if  some  one  was  de 
manding  admittance. 

"  It  would  n't  surprise  me,"  I  said  gravely,  after  a  long 
lilence,  as  if  I  had  been  debating  the  question  for  several 
fear*,  though  I  had  never  thought  of  it  before,  "  if  your 


THE  SEA  GIVES  UP  ITS  DEAD.  289 

father  should  come  to  this  house  some  night  —  1  think  h 
would  be  a  dark  and  stormy  night,  for  they  say  those  long 
absent  only  return  at  such  times  —  and,  sitting  among  us, 
tell  strange  stories  of  his  wanderings,  and  of  his  search 
for  you.  The  two  travellers  we  seem  to  be  always  expect* 
ing  here  may  meet  on  the  road  as  they  near  the  towu, 
and  come  on  together.  Perhaps  it  is  not  likely,  but  it  ii 
possible." 

They  were  both  looking  strangely  at  each  other,  and 
then  at  me,  and  then  timidly  at  the  door  leading  into  the 
hall,  and  out  into  the  street. 

"  If  they  should  return  to-night,  they  could  easily  step 
;nto  the  hall,  and  listen  to  what  we  are  saying,  for  the 
front  door  is  wide  open.  Maybe  they  are  there ;  go  and 
look  into  the  hall." 

This  was  addressed  to  Agnes,  and  there  was  so  much 
distress  in  her  face  when  she  looked  up  at  me  that  I  re 
gretted  having  said  so  much,  for  I  might  as  well  have 
asked  her  to  look  into  the  hall,  and  expect  to  find  her 
mother,  who  I  knew  was  securely  in  her  grave. 

While  thinking  how  to  get  out  of  the  dilemma  into 
which  I  had  unconsciously  talked  myself,  I  thought  I  heard 
a  noise  of  feet  in  the  hall,  and  from  where  I  sat  I  could 
look  squarely  at  the  door  leading  into  it,  though  neither 
Agnes  nor  my  mother  could.  I  supposed  it  was  Martin, 
who  occasionally  came  to  the  house  in  the  evening,  though 
I  wondered  why  he  should  be  so  quiet,  and  while  deliber 
ating  whether  to  go  out  and  invite  him  in,  or  await  his 
knock,  the  door  opened  a  little,  and  I  was  surprised  to  see 
Damon  Barker  standing  on  the  outside.  Supposing  he 
had  heard  all  that  had  been  said,  I  again  bantered  Agne« 
to  look  into  the  hall. 

" I  think  I  heard  some  one  in  there,"  I  said.     "Who 
it  is  he  is  welcome." 


290  THE  6TOB.Y  O*    A  COTJNTKY  TOWS. 

The  visitor  did  not  seem  to  appreciate  my  humor,  but 
was  very  grave,  and  did  not  look  at  me,  keeping  hii 
eyes  on  Agnes.  He  trembled  as  he  came  softly  into  the 
room,  as  I  have  seen  men  in  great  excitement  since,  and 
was  breathing  quickly  and  hearvily.  At  this  moment  Ag 
nes  turned  around  in  such  a  manner  that  she  saw  the  facfcj 
and  with  a  startled  cry  she  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  throw 
ing  her  hands  to  her  head,  looked  curiously  at  Barker, 
and  then  at  me,  as  if  she  thought  we  were  in  a  plot  to 
frighten  her. 

The  silence  that  followed  was  of  such  duration  that  I 
would  have  broken  it  —  as  I  felt  that  I  was  the  cause  of 
the  awkward  situation  —  but  for  the  fact  that  as  Barker 
walked  in  he  acted  in  a  manner  so  odd  that  I  could  not 
speak.  Once  I  thought  he  would  burst  out  crying,  and 
again  he  turned  as  if  he  would  run  away.  As  he  ad 
vanced  toward  the  middle  of  the  room  Agnes  shrank  fur 
ther  into  the  shadow,  though  her  eyes  were  riveted  on  his 
face.  Two  or  three  times  he  attempted  to  speak,  and  at 
last  he  said  :  — 

"  Agnes,  don't  you  know  me  now  ?  " 

His  voice  trembled  so  much  that  the  last  word  was  a 
sob,  and  the  next  moment  Agnes  was  in  his  arms.  I  was 
in  the  greatest  wonder,  and  had  not  the  remotest  idea 
what  it  all  meant,  but  my  mother  was  shrewder  than  I, 
and  when  she  began  crying  softly  I  knew  she  understood 
it  and  was  satisfied.  They  remained  locked  in  each  other's 
arms,  both  sobbing  convulsively,  for  such  a  length  of  time 
that  I  began  counting  the  seconds  as  they  were  told  ofl 
by  the  clock,  and  when  I  had  got  up  to  sixty  Barker  held 
Agnes  off  at  arm's  length  to  look  at  her,  but  he  could  not 
see  through  his  tears,  and  sobbed  again  like  a  man  who 
bad  been  holding  up  for  a  long  time.  Even  then  I  did 
not  realize  what  it  all  meant,  and  my  jealous  heart  brought 


FATHER  AND  DAUGHTER.  291 

the  suggestion  to  my  niind  that  Barker's  frequent  visits  to 
the  school  meant  something  after  all,  and  that  they  had 
quart  3lled,  and  were  making  it  up. 

Just  when  the  thought  came  to  me  that  Damon  Barker 
was  the  missing  commander  of  the  "  Agnes  "  I  cannc« 
now  remember,  but  it  almost  took  my  breath  away,  and  a 
great  lump  rose  in  my  throat. 

Agnes  kissed  her  father  over  and  over,  and,  wiping  away 
his  tears,  placed  his  arms  about  her  again,  and  hid  her 
face  on  his  breast.  He  was  such  a  large  man,  and  Agnes 
such  a  little  girl,  that  his  great  arms  almost  hid  her  from 
sight. 

"  It  is  so  strange  as  to  need  an  explanation,"  Barker  said, 
with  an  effort,  looking  at  my  mother,  who  was  still  softly 
crying,  and  then  at  me,  who  could  do  nothing  but  look  on 
in  wonder ;  "  but  I  will  never  explain  to  Agnes  further 
than  that  she  has  been  the  object  of  my  thoughts  and 
prayers  ever  since  I  so  strangely  deserted  her.  However 
much  I  may  have  sinned  in  other  ways  I  have  always  loved 
the  child ;  there  is  nothing  between  us.  I  have  been  an 
honest  man  except  in  the  particular  which  must  be  in  all 
your  minds,  and  which  it  is  best  never  to  mention.  My 
secret  shall  be  buried  hi  the  grave  which  we  filled  up  out 
yonder ;"  he  pointed  his  hand  in  the  direction  of  the  Smoky 
Hills,  and  I  thought  his  old  look  of  hate  came  into  his  eyes ; 
f<  though  I  have  the  story  written,  and  Ned  shall  read  it 
/tnd  judge  me.  I  ask  him  now  to  read  what  I  have  written 
from  my  heart  during  these  two  months,  and  then  tell  you 
i'wo  whether  I  was  justified  in  the  course  I  took ;  whether 
I  have  been  worse  than  other  men  who  have  erred,  and 
Differed,  But  if  I  have  sinned  I  have  wiped  it  all  out  by 
waiting  in  the  solitude  of  the  woods  for  the  day  when  I 
fjould  claim  Agnos ;  in  the  dreadful  fear  for  her  safety, 
md  the  prickings  of  conscience ;  but  if  this  is  not  enougb 


292  THE  STORY  OF   A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

I  will  do  penance  the  remainder  of  ray  life  that  I  may  be 
father  to  my  child  again.  Will  you  accept  me,  Agnes, 
with  no  other  explanation  ?  " 

The  strange  house  at  the  mill,  and  its  strange  occupant^ 
were  now  clear  to  me,  for  I  knew  that  when  I  had  seen 
hiin  in  the  middle  of  the  night  ready  to  run  away ;  whcc 
I  had  seen  him  always  quickly  looking  about  like  a  hunted 
man,  he  was  fearful  the  little  old  woman  who  had  fright- 
ened  me  at  the  house  of  Lytle  Biggs  would  burst  in  upoii 
him  like  a  phantom,  with  her  snarling  voice,  and  ugh' 
face,  and  scold  him  as  she  scolded  Big  Adam. 

"  Yes,  father,  yes,"  Agnes  said,  as  she  looked  into  his 
face,  "  if  there  is  anything  to  forgive,  I  forgive  it  without 
asking  to  know  what  it  is.  We  will  be  father  and  child 
again,  and  the  old  house  at  the  mill  shall  be  our  home.  I 
ask  nothing  further  than  that  you  love  me,  and  that  you 
have  come  back  to  me,  never  to  go  away  again.  You 
were  always  so  good,  and  I  love  you  so  much,  that  I 
believe  whatever  you  did  was  for  the  best ;  I  don't  want 
to  know  what  it  is.  Ned  and  his  mother  can  bear  testimony 
to  how  tenderly  I  have  always  cherished  your  memory, 
and  how  much  I  missed  you,  though  I  believed  you  were 
dead.  The  hope  that  you  were  alive  was  never  in  my 
mind  for  a  moment,  or  I  should  have  known  you  when  you 
were  so  kind  to  me  in  Fairview,  after  Ned  and  his  mother 
kad  moved  away,  arid  when  I  was  lonely  and  friendless.  I 
wondered  then  why  I  was  not  afraid  of  you,  for  you  were 
stern  and  fierce,  but  I  know  now ;  I  could  not  be  afraid 
of  my  father,  though  I  did  not  know  him.  I  am  content 
that  we  commence  our  lives  anew,  never  to  refer  to  events 
beyor.J  this  night.  I  am  more  than  content;  I  am  happy 
touch  happier  than  I  have  ever  been  before,  or  ever 
ixpected  to  be." 

They  were  walking  up  and  down  the  room  now,  locked 


BURSTING  THE  PAST. 

in  each  other's  arms,  and  I  thought  with  Agnes  that  I 
would  freely  accept  his  explanation  without  hearing  it ;  I 
was  so  certain  he  was  a  good  and  honest  man.  As  mj 
mother  looked  at  them  timidly,  I  thought  she  was  wort- 
tiering  if  her  wanderer  would  ever  return,  and  if  shf 
srould  ever  be  as  happy  as  Agnes.  As  if  convinced  thai 
it  would  never  come  to  pass,  she  went  softly  from  the 
room,  still  hiding  her  eyes,  and  we  heard  her  sobbicg  in 
the  next  room.  Barker  was  very  much  affected,  and 
when  Agnes  went  out  to  speak  to  her,  he  kept  saying, 
"It's  too  bad,"  until  she  returned.  As  for  me,  I  could 
only  stare  at  him,  and  look  out  of  the  window  into  the 
darkness. 

"We  will  agree  then,"  Barker  said,  when  Agnes  was 
again  seated  beside  him,  "  that  the  book  of  the  past,  with 
all  its  unhappy  secrets,  shall  be  closed  forever,  and  we 
will  only  open  the  new  leaves,  which  I  hope  we  can  con 
template  with  pleasure.  But  before  dismissing  the  past 
forever,  never  to  recall  it  again,  I  want  to  say  that  I  have 
watched  over  you  constantly  for  the  past  eight  years, 
when  I  first  learned  you  were  living  in  Fairview.  Let 
me  say  this  to  excuse  my  other  neglect,  and  that  you 
may  know  how  honest  my  affection  for  you  has  always 
been.  You  may  recollect  that  you  once  gave  Ned  my 
picture  in  appreciation  of  his  friendship,  and  he  sent  it  to 
me  by  Jo.  He  showed  it  to  me  one  night  wLen  I  had 
almost  resolved  to  look  for  you  at  Bradford,  no  difference 
ft'hat  the  consequence  might  be,  and  though  I  recognized 
it  at  once,  I  tossed  ft  to  one  side  with  a  glance,  thoirgh  I 
aras  so  much  agitated  that  soon  after  I  left  the  room  to 
hide  it.  When  I  returned,  and  inquired  as  carelessly  as  1 
could  whom  the  picture  represented,  Jo  replied  that  it 
was  the  father  of  the  little  school-teacher,  Agnes  Doming 
Mid  that  he  had  been  drowned  at  sea.  By  degrees  1 


294  THE  STORY  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

learned  when  you  came,  how  you  looked,  and  where  you 
lived ;  and  how  often  I  have  made  them  tell  the  story 
without  suspecting ;  how  often  I  have  set  them  to  talking  of 
pretty  Agnes,  and  when  they  told  how  much  she  mourned 
her  father,  I  went  away  and  walked  in  the  woods  unl  il  I 
was  calm  again.  Since  then  I  have  been  near  you  a  hun 
dred  times  when  you  did  not  know  it,  and  a  hundred 
times  when  you  did.  Very  often  I  have  stolen  up  to  your 
window  in  the  night,  and  seeing  you  were  safe  and  well, 
crept  back  through  the  woods  to  my  desolate  home,  wait 
ing  for  this  night  to  come.  Once  when  I  looked  into  your 
window  —  it  was  at  Ned's  father's  house,  in  the  country 
—  I  saw  you  kneel,  and  I  heard  you  ask  blessings  on  my 
head,  though  you  supposed  I  was  in  heaven.  It  has  been 
a  long  time  to  wait,  and  I  have  suffered  a  great  deal,  but 
I  am  satisfied ;  I  believe  I  shall  be  happier  that  it  came 
about  as  it  did." 

I  noticed  that  they  at  once  put  into  execution  their 
resolve  to  bury  the  past  in  the  lonely  grave  out  in  Smoky 
Hill,  around  which  we  had  all  stood  two  months  before, 
for  during  the  remainder  of  the  night  nothing  was  talked 
of  but  the  happy  future ;  the  to-morrow  of  their  lives, 
instead  of  the  yesterday. 

When  I  had  sufficiently  recovered  myself  to  congratu 
late  them,  we  laughed  merrily  over  my  attempt  to  frighten 
Agnes,  and  Barker  started  to  explain  how  he  happened  to 
come  when  he  did,  but  recollecting  his  resolve  to  speak 
Uo  more  of  that,  he  waived  it  off,  and  told  instead  how 
the  house  at  the  mill  should  be  remodelled  and  refur 
nished,  and  the  heavy  shutters  taken  down;  how  the 
people  who  passed  that  way  would  wonder  at  the  change, 
und  how  they  should  be  told  that  the  owner  had  been 
blessed  through  the  mercy  of  God. 

"  I  shall  remain  plain  Damon  Barker,"  he  said.    "  It  11 


REUNITED.  296 

a  good  name,  and  ha*  never  been  disgraced,  and  I  shall 
keep  it.  It  is  as  good  as  any  other,  and  it  would  bt  con 
fusing  to  change." 

I  remained  with  them  until  long  a£  er  midnight,  and 
when  I  went  softly  up  the  stairs  to  my  room,  I  could  hear 
them  talking  in  low  tones.  During  the  night,  as  I  restlessly 
tossed  about,  I  heard  the  hum  of  their  voices,  and  when 
[  came  down  early  in  the  morning  after  a  disturbed  rest, 
I  found  Agnes  quietly  sleeping,  with  her  head  on  her 
father's  knee,  but  Damon  Barker's  eyes  were  wide  open, 
and  there  was  a  smile  on  his  face,  and  I  thought  he  had 
grown  younger  during  the  night. 

I  can  never  forget  the  loneliness  which  came  over  me 
when  they  drove  away  in  the  morning,  waving  theii 
adieus,  nor  the  coldness  which  came  into  the  house,  and 
would  not  be  driven  out.  I  am  certain  we  lighted  fires 
that  night,  though  they  had  not  been  necessary  before, 
and  when  Martin  came  down  to  sit  with  us,  he  shivered 
as  he  entered  the  room,  and  rubbed  big  hands  to  warm 
them. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

BARKER'S  STORY. 

MY  first  recollection  is  of  being  on  board  a  Bailing 
ship  at  sea,  and  by  degrees  I  learned  that  my 
mother  was  dead;  that  the  rough  commander  who  was 
dreaded  and  feared  by  everyone  else  as  well  as  myself 
was  my  father,  and  that  I  was  kept  with  him  on  the  ship 
because  I  was  less  troublesome  there  than  anywhere  else, 
and  because  he  desired  to  look  after  my  education  in  per 
son,  which  began  when  I  was  five  years  old. 

I  heard  somewhere  that  my  father,  the  rough  com 
mander,  had  been  very  fond  of  my  mother,  who  died  the 
day  I  was  born,  and  that  his  disposition  had  been  different 
since  he  gave  her  an  ocean  burial,  on  which  occasion  he 
read  the  service  himself  in  a  choking  voice,  and,  locking 
himself  in  his  cabin  directly  after  it  was  over,  did  not 
come  out  again  for  three  days  and  four  nights.  There 
was  but  one  other  woman  on  the  ship,  the  stewardess,  and 
I  wras  put  in  her  care,  but  before  I  was  old  enough  to 
remember,  she  went  away,  so  that  I  have  not  the  slightest 
recollection  of  her. 

The  mate,  who  had  been  in  my  father's  employ  a  long 
while,  told  me  that  when  my  mother  was  alive  she  ac 
companied  the  ship  on  all  its  voyages,  and  that  the  com 
mander  was  not  then  so  hard  with  the  men,  but  frequently 
gave  them  holidays,  when  it  was  possible,  and  was  amused 
with  their  sports.  Indeed,  he  spent  mucli  of  his  time  in 
ber  company,  trusting  the  management  of  the  vessel  te 
206 


297 

the  first  officer  while  at  sea,  and  was  altogether  very  gal- 
lant  and  attentive,  which  he  had  not  been  to  anyone 
since.  The  mate's  recollection  of  my  mother  was  that  shu 
was  pretty,  and  fair-haired,  and  very  young  and  girlish 
and  evidently  well-bred,  for  her  hands  were  small  and 
white,  and  she  was  graceful  and  accomplished.  He  be 
lieved  she  had  run  away  to  marry  my  father,  for  she  never 
left  the  ship  after  coming  to  it  as  a  bride  until  she  wai 
buried  in  mid-ocean,  and  neither  of  them  seemed  to  have 
friends  on  shore  they  were  anxious  to  see,  but  were  en 
tirely  content  with  each  other.  When  the  ship  was  at 
anchor  in  the  little  American  port  where  it  was  owned, 
all  hands  went  away  for  a  time  except  my  father  and  hia 
young  bride,  and  the  mate  said  they  seemed  to  be  sorry 
\*hen  the  noisy,  rough  men  came  back  again,  as  if  they 
had  greatly  enjoyed  being  alone. 

My  father  kept  her  picture  in  an  expensive  case  in  his 
room,  and  although  I  frequently  saw  him  looking  at  it 
himself  —  indeed,  when  he  was  not  busy  with  the  maps 
and  charts,  he  had  the  picture  on  the  table  in  front  of  him 
—  I  was  only  permitted  to  see  the  face  on  rare  occasions, 
as  on  holidays,  or  after  I  had  learned  my  lessons  particu 
larly  well,  when  he  held  it  before  me  for  a  few  moments, 
but  never  allowing  me  to  take  it  in  my  own  hands.  When 
I  was  still  a  very  little  boy,  I  excused  much  of  his  neglect 
of  me  because  of  the  grief  he  felt  over  my  mother's  death, 
and  I  think  my  first  thoughts  were  that  he  in  some  way 
laid  it  all  to  me,  for  when  I  caught  him  looking  at  me 
his  face  was  covered  with  a  frown,  and  I  almost  expected 
him  to  grasp  my  throat  and  inquire  why  I  had  been  so 
wicked  and  so  inconsiderate  of  his  feelings.  For  a  great 
many  years  I  believed  her  death  was  due  to  some  blunder 
of  mine,  and  I  suppose  this  was  one  reason  why  I  avoided 
my  father  as  mu^h  as  possible,  that  he  might  not  accuse 
He  of  it. 


298  THE  BTOBY  OF   A  COUNTKY  TOWN. 

I  lived  on  the  sea,  never  being  away  from  it  a  day 
until  I  was  fourteen  years  old,  and,  occupying  a  littl* 
room  connected  with  my  father's  cabin,  was  compelled  U 
study  a  certain  number  of  hours  each  day,  and  recite  to 
him  at  night.  If  I  did  not  learn  as  much  during  the  da; 
as  he  thought  I  ought  to  learn,  he  sent  for  a  sailor,  and 
ordered  me  whipped,  but  the  sailors  were  my  friends,  and, 
begging  me  to  apply  myself  more  in  the  future,  beat  the 
masts  instead  of  my  legs.  But  usually  I  learned  my  les- 
aons  to  amuse  myself,  for  he  would  not  allow  me  to  talk 
with  the  sailors,  and  did  not  talk  to  me  himself,  so  that  I 
was  very  lonely,  and  studied  my  books  from  necessity. 
Although  I  never  attended  school,  in  this  way  I  became 
something  of  a  scholar,  for  I  did  little  else  than  study 
under  my  father's  hard  tutelage  for  eight  years  —  from 
the  day  I  was  five  years  old  until  I  was  thirteen,  when  he 
began  to  grow  tired  of  teaching  me.  Being  an  educated 
man  himself,  he  taught  me  everything  it  was  necessary 
for  one  in  my  position  to  know,  and  selected  my  studies 
with  so  much  good  judgment,  and  instructed  me  with  so 
much  vigor  and  clearness,  that  I  could  not  have  learned 
more  during  a  like  number  of  years  at  school. 

After  I  was  nine  years  old  he  gave  me  permission  to 
mingle  with  the  sailors  to  learn  their  languages,  for  nearly 
every  country  under  sunlight  was  represented  in  the  fore 
castle  mess,  and  after  that  I  spent  all  my  idle  time  among 
them,  telling  them  the  story  of  the  stars  in  return  for 
their  strange  words,  or  explaining  the  mysteries  of  the 
winds  and  currents.  I  have  said  that  before  this  he  did 
not  allow  me  to  talk  to  the  men,  but  perhaps  I  had  bettei 
write  that  it  was  generally  understood  that  I  should  not 
mingle  with  them  freely,  so  that  we  were  all  conspirators 
in  getting  together.  The  most  pleasant  recollection  of  mj 
routh  is  of  taking  an  occasional  dinner  with  the  sailors,  o» 


A  STRANGE  HISTORY.  29? 

of  spending  an  hour  with  them  when  they  were  off  watch, 
when  there  was  always  a  lookout  to  give  notice  should  the 
captain  approach.  Although  we  were  always  changing 
crews,  they  were  all  my  friends,  and  the  companions  of 
my  boyhood  were  gray  and  grizzled  men,  who  adapted 
themselves  to  my  condition,  and  did  whatever  pleased  me 
most. 

Ours  was  a  merchant  ship,  though  we  earned  a  few 
passengers,  and,  as  the  voyages  were  long,  I  became  well 
acquainted  witli  them,  for  I  sat  beside  my  father  at  the 
cabin  table,  and  was  a  great  deal  in  their  company,  when 
not  engaged  with  the  books.  What  I  know  of  manners 
and  of  polite  society  I  learned  from  them,  and  although  I 
thought  I  liked  every  new  set  the  best,  I  believe  I  cried 
equally  hard  when  any  of  them  went  away.  There  were 
many  brides  among  them,  going  with  their  husbands  to 
homes  in  distant  countries,  and  after  hearing  of  my 
Btrange  childhood,  they  were  all  very  kind  to  me.  Fre 
quently  they  asked  my  father  to  allow  me  to  visit  them 
at  their  homes,  until  his  ship  touched  again  at  the  port 
where  they  left  us,  but  always  to  my  inexpressible  sorrow 
he  refused,  saying  he  was  liable  to  put  the  vessel  into 
another  trade  at  any  time.  I  do  not  remember  that  we 
ever  had  children  for  passengers,  except  very  small  ones, 
BO  that  I  grew  up  entirely  in  the  company  of  my  elders, 
and  do  not  now  feel  that  I  ever  had  any  childhood  at  all. 

When  fifteen  years  old  I  was  permitted  to  go  on  an 
excursion  into  the  interior  with  a  party  of  the  men,  while 
the  ship  was  lying  at  a  Spanish  town,  and  by  an  accident 
I  was  separated  from  the  rest,  and  did  not  find  my  way 
back  for  two  days.  When  the  men  returned,  my  father 
nipposed  I  had  run  away,  and  sailed  without  me,  leaving 
tny  effects  at  a  shipping  office  in  case  I  should  call  for 
them,  together  with  a  sum  of  money,  which  was  to  bt 


800  THE  STORY   OF   A   COUNTRY   TOWN. 

forwarded  to  him  unless  claimed  in  a  given  number  el 
Creeks.  I  really  felt  relief  when  I  found  that  I  was  free, 
I  had  lived  so  wretchedly  with  my  father,  and  by  repre 
senting  my  dilemma  to  other  captains  whose  ships  were 
in,  I  had  no  difficulty  in  securing  a  situation,  which  1  de- 
gired  more  than  a  passage  to  my  own  country,  and  engager 
with  a  captain  who  was  going  in  an  entirely  opposite 
direction.  Having  studied  navigation  with  my  father,  1 
was  able  to  make  myself  useful  to  the  captain  who  em 
ployed  me,  and  I  remained  in  his  service  a  number  of 
years,  at  first  as  his  secretary,  and  finally  as  confidential 
adviser  and  third  officer,  during  which  time  I  learned 
accidentally  that  my  father  was  dead,  and  that  his  estate 
did  not  pay  his  debts.  This  induced  me  to  hoard  my 
earnings,  which  were  considerable,  and  when  I  was  twenty 
I  was  part  owner  and  third  officer  of  a  ship  sailing  be 
tween  a  small  American  port  and  the  Indies.  After  I 
had  been  at  this  a  year  or  two,  my  vessel  was  put  in  the 
docks  for  repairs,  and  having  nothing  else  to  do  I  fell  in 
love,  which  is  the  part  of  my  history  upon  which  I  shall 
dwell. 

The  girl  with  whom  I  became  acquainted,  —  I  cannot 
say  infatuated,  for  I  never  was ;  I  suppose  it  was  a  kind 
of  curiosity,  —  and  who  afterwards  became  my  wife,  was 
the  only  one  I  had  ever  known  since  reaching  manhood, 
and  1  persisted  in  calling  at  her  house  mainly  because  she 
had  told  me  that  her  father  and  mother  objected  to  it, 
though  I  cannot  see  why  they  should,  as  my  station  in 
life  was  better  than  theirs,  and  I  had  excellent  prospects. 
I  do  not  offer  it  as  an  excuse  for  my  later  conduct,  but  it 
is  really  the  case  that  I  never  asked  her  to  become  my 
wife.  She  took  it  for  granted  that  I  desired  to  marry 
her,  and  said  one  evening  that  since  it  was  well  under 
ttood  that  we  were  to  be  married  some  time  —  nothing 


ACQUAINTANCE,  NOT  LOVE.  801 

of  the  kind  was  well  understood  —  we  might  as  weP 
agree  on  a  date,  and  in  my  weakness  I  said  the  sooner  tlie 
better,  or  something  to  that  effect,  whicli  she  understood 
as  a  proposal,  and  accepted  in  due  farm.  There  was 
never  any  love  between  us,  but  she  always  gave  me  to 
understand  that  I  was  distressing  her  by  being  these 
against  her  father's  will,  and  never  having  kncwn  a  woman 
before,  I  supposed  the  kind  of  regard  she  had  for  me  waa 
all  that  women  generally  gave,  and  to  vindicate  her,  and 
to  show  her  father  that  he  was  mistaken  in  his  judgment 
of  me,  I  allowed  the  matter  to  go  on  until  we  were  mar 
ried,  although  I  assure  you  that  there  was  never  a  moment 
that  I  was  not  trying  to  devise  some  means  to  get  out  of 
it,  being  convinced  that  it  would  never  do.  I  am  too  old 
a  man  —  and  I  hope  too  honorable  —  to  misrepresent 
any  particular  in  the  story  I  am  telling,  therefore  I  have 
been  careful  to  write  only  the  exact  truth,  the  benefit  of 
a  doubt  always  being  given  to  the  dead. 

I  soon  saw  that  I  had  made  a  mistake,  but  hoped  for 
the  best,  and,  after  making  extensive  arrangements  for 
her  comfort,  sailed  on  a  voyage  which  occupied  me  a  year 
and  a  half.  On  returning  I  found  that  a  daughter  had 
been  born  to  me ;  but  in  spite  of  this  I  formed  such  a  dis 
like  for  my  wife  that  it  was  with  the  greatest  difficulty 
I  treated  her  civilly.  During  the  few  months  I  was  at 
home  the  child  became  very  dear  to  me,  but  as  my  love 
for  it  grew,  my  repugnance  for  the  mother  increased  so 
much  that  I  sailed  earlier  than  at  first  intended  (I  was 
captain  of  the  ship  by  this  time)  to  be  out  of  her  com- 
oany.  I  ha  1  not  been  at  sea  a  week  until  I  began  to 
dread  to  return,  and  often  I  seriously  contemplated  drown 
ing,  to  be  rid  of  it  all.  But  when  I  thought  of  the  pretty 
ehild,  J  tried  to  banish  the  thought  for  her  sake,  though 
I  could  no-  do  it,  and  as  we  neared  home  on  the  return 


802  THE  8TOEY  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

trip  I  dreaded  my  native  town  as  I  dreaded  sunken  reefi 
and  rocks.  The  crew  counted  the  days  until  they  could 
expect  to  see  their  wives  and  sweethearts  waving  welcome 
from  the  shore,  but  the  thought  of  a  meeting  with  my 
wife  was  horrible  beyond  my  ability  to  relate.  I  thought 
of  it  in  a  hundred  different  ways,  trying  to  devise  some 
way  to  rob  the  meeting  of  its  terror,  but  I  could  never 
arrange  it  satisfactorily,  and  suffered  as  the  damned  are 
said  to  suffer.  On  coming  home  I  dreaded  most  to  kiss 
her,  as  I  was  expected  to  do,  and  next  to  that,  the  first 
meeting.  I  cannot  explain  to  you  this  aversion  fully,  but 
it  was  so  strong  that  I  was  constantly  in  the  most  horrible 
misery,  and  the  more  I  thought  of  it,  the  more  I  loathed 
her. 

I  am  crowding  the  results  of  several  years  into  *  few 
lines,  during  which  tune  I  came  and  went,  the  avei  sion 
all  the  time  growing  upon  me.  Sometimes  I  wab  at 
home  only  a  week ;  at  other  times  a  month  or  more,  t»nd 
the  length  of  the  voyages  varied  in  the  same  manner.  I 
will  not  worry  you  with  the  details ;  it  is  enough  to  say 
that  she  was  petulant,  an  invalid,  uninviting  in  person, 
without  charms  of  any  kind,  and  utterly  lacking  in  what 
is  now  known  as  common  sense.  It  will  be  said  (you  will 
remark  it,  no  doubt)  that  I  should  have  made  these  dis 
coveries  before  I  married  her,  which  is  true ;  I  should 
have,  but  I  did  not,  as  others  have  failed  to  make  vitally 
Important  discoveries  until  it  was  too  late  to  take  advan- 
^age  of  them ;  hence  this  candid  avowal  of  nay  disgraceful 
iiistory.  I  wish  to  say  again  that  I  make  these  statements 
with  all  respect  to  the  charity  which  should  be  shown  the 
memory  of  the  dead,  yet  in  justification  of  myself  it  is 
necessary  to  tell  the  truth,  which  may  be  spoken  witt 
propriety  at  any  time. 

Other  men's  wives  were  intellectual  if  not  beautiful,  oi 


HEB  FAMILY.  808 

beautiful  if  not  intellectual,  but  mine  was  neither.  It  is 
my  candid  judgment,  and  I  write  it  with  sorrow  and  pity, 
that  she  had  not  a  single  good  quality.  (I  have  thought 
it  all  over,  before  proceeding,  and  assert  it  again :  Not 
one.)  I  think  she  never  went  to  bed  in  her  life  that  she 
did  not  drink  some  sort  of  tea  for  some  sort  of  complaint, 
and  it  was  her  only  boast  that  in  all  the  world  a  woman 
could  not  be  found  who  "  bore  up "  as  well  as  she  did. 
She  took  pride  in  nothing  else ;  she  had  no  other  ambition 
than  to  demonstrate  that  such  was  the  case,  and  had  no 
other  delight  than  to  cite  evidences  of  it.  I  beg  you  will 
remember  that  these  are  cold,  calculated  assertions  of 
fact,  and  not  illustrative  in  any  degree.  I  have  spent 
several  weeks  in  writing  this  letter,  in  a  manner  that  can 
not  be  misconstrued ;  every  word  has  been  weighed,  and 
put  down  after  its  effect  and  the  impression  it  would 
convey  had  been  carefully  considered. 

She  took  not  the  slightest  interest  in  me  nor  my  affairs ; 
indeed,  she  took  interest  in  nothing  except  her  family, 
which  worried  her  so  much  that  frequently  she  awakened 
in  the  night,  and  cried  for  hours  like  a  silly  child  for  fear 
her  mother,  or  her  father,  or  her  brothers,  or  her  sisters, 
were  not  well,  although  there  would  not  be  the  slightest 
reason  to  suppose  they  were  not  enjoying  their  usual 
health.  This  circumstance  is  particularly  worthy  of  note 
when  it  is  known  that  she  did  not  get  along  with  her 
family,  for  they  were  always  quarrelling  when  together, 
ind  although  they  were  the  most  ordinary  people,  she 
talked  of  them,  and  wondered  what  would  they  say  to 
this  or  that,  go  much  that  I  gently  remonstrated  with  he*. 
This  she  construed  into  an  attack,  and  while  I  lived  with 
her  she  regularly  vindicated  "her  family"  whenever  1 
came  into  her  presence,  in  a  manner  indicating  that  they 
irere  of  royal  blood.  They  moved  away  from  there  after 


804  THE  STOEY  OF  A  COCNTItY  TOWN. 

we  had  been  married  a  few  years,  and  this  gave  her  oo 
casion  to  bewail  her  separation  from  them,  which  she  never 
lost  opportunity  to  do.  Her  father  was  a  perfect  type  of 
a  common  man ;  the  mother  was  a  little  better,  perhaps, 
but  the  brothers  and  sisters  did  not  average  with  the 
young  people  in  the  poor  town  where  they  were  brought 
up,  so  that  this  great  admiration  was  unwarranted,  and 
ridiculous.  But  if  it  were  disagreeable  when  "  her  family  " 
were  in  the  same  town  with  us,  it  was  unbearable  when 
they  were  away.  For  every  month  of  their  separation 
she  added  a  hall,  park  or  castle  to  her  father's  possessions 
• —  which  consisted  in  reality  of  battered  household  goods 
,hat  a  really  vigorous  man  could  have  carried  away  on  his 
back.  Finally  I  began  to  think  seriously  of  running 
away. 

Inasmuch  as  this  is  a  hurried  sketch  of  my  life,  I  will 
mention  as  a  single  example  of  how  we  lived,  and  which 
might  be  multiplied  by  any  figure  below  a  thousand,  that 
if  I  complained  that  we  seldom  had  fish  on  the  table,  we 
had  fish  regularly  thereafter  until  I  complained  that  we 
had  nothing  else,  whereupon  she  said  I  was  a  grumbler, 
and  hard  to  please,  and  from  that  time  fish  was  banished 
from  the  house.  No  matter  how  much  I  longed  for  fish 
after  that,  I  was  afraid  to  ask  for  it,  for  we  would  then 
get  nothing  else. 

I  think  I  never  sat  down  at  the  table  with  her  that  she 
did  not  bring  out  a  depraved  private  dish  for  herself 
which  I  abhorred  and  despised.  Tripe  boiled  in  vinegar 
was  one  of  these ;  roasted  cheese  was  another,  and  the 
fumes  from  either  made  me  so  sick  that  I  was  compelled 
to  get  up  and  go  out.  She  persisted  in  bringing  these 
dishes  to  the  table  to  "  show  her  spirit,"  although  many 
times  she  did  not  want  them,  I  am  thoroughly  convinced 

In  addition  to  the  disagreeable  qualities  I  have  hastilj 


A  PLOT  TO   RUN  AWAY.  30ft 

mentioned,  sho  was  always  complaining;  if  not  of  me,  oi 
her  health ;  if  not  of  her  health,  of  the  trouble  the  child 
was,  or  of  the  house  in  which  we  lived,  which  I  am  cer 
tain  was  the  best  she  had  ever  seen ;  but  she  never  com 
plained  of  my  long  voyages,  and  I  think  she  enjoyed  my 
absence  as  much  as  I  did  hers.  In  short,  although  by  thia 
time  I  realized  the  fitness  of  a  suitable  marriage,  I  knew 
mine  was  the  most  unsuitable  in  the  world  ;  that  we  had 
Dothing  in  common ;  that  we  should  grow  gradually  worse 
instead  of  better,  and  that  I  should  surely  become,  by  rea 
son  of  it,  a  dissatisfied,  incapable  and  worthless  man. 
Therefore,  I  began  to  weigh  the  consequences  of  running 
away. 

This  brought  to  mind  the  love  I  bore  the  child,  which 
had  grown  steadily  during  the  eight  years  since  she  was 
born,  and  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  if  I  remained  as  I 
was  I  should  become  a  man  so  gross  and  selfish  as  to 
shrink  under  her  increasing  intelligence  and  refinement, 
for  she  was  as  pure  and  good  as  an  angel,  and  I  concluded 
it  would  be  better  for  her  to  think  of  me  as  a  good  man 
dead  than  as  a  bad  man  alive,  therefore  after  I  had  lived 
in  the  manner  I  have  described  for  nearly  nine  years,  mak 
ing  my  voyages  as  long  as  possible,  I  went  away,  and  de 
termined  never  to  return. 

The  more  I  thought  of  it,  once  I  was  away,  the  stronger 
my  determination  became  never  to  enter  the  presence  of 
tny  wife  again,  and  after  thinking  of  it  night  and  day  for 
several  weeks,  I  accepted  the  disgrace.  Public  opinion  is 
nlways  against  a  man  in  matters  of  this  kind,  no  diffe*- 
>nce  what  his  wrongs  may  be,  and  men  who  are  contem 
plating  running  away  from  family  difficulties  themselves 
regard  the  offence  the  greatest  of  which  some  one  else  cau 
be  guilty,  but  I  accepted  the  consequences,  and  felt  relief 
If  hen  I  knew  I  was  finally  rid  of  her. 


BOG  THE   STORY  OP  A  COUNTRY   TOWN. 

I  had  accumulated  a  good  deal  of  property  during 
career  as  a  shipmaster,  and  I  left  it  all,  except  the 
and  in  such  condition  that  she  could  use  it.  The  ship  I 
determined  to  keep  as  my  share,  as  it  was  no  more  than 
half.  My  first  idea  was  to  locate  somewhere  —  I  had  no 
idea  where,  but  a  long  way  off  —  and  after  Agnes  had 
reached  a  reasoning  age,  to  secretly  write  her  the  story  I 
have  written  to  you,  and  ask  her  to  decide  between  us,  in 
the  hope  that  she  would  come  to  me.  This  hope  sup 
ported  me,  and  without  it  I  could  never  have  put  into 
execution  my  plan  of  escape. 

On  reaching  the  first  port  after  sailing  from  home,  I 
pretended  to  find  evidences  of  mutiny  among  the  crew, 
which  caused  me  a  great  deal  of  pain,  for  many  of  the 
men  had  been  with  me  for  years,  and  were  as  true  and 
honest  as  men  become,  but  it  was  necessary  to  carry  out 
my  plan,  and  I  discharged  them  all.  After  they  had  left 
the  place  by  taking  positions  on  other  ships,  I  engaged 
another  crew,  and  went  into  another  trade,  which  carried 
me  thousands  of  miles  further  away  from  my  own  country. 
Again  I  discharged  the  crew,  and  after  allowing  the  ship 
to  be  idle  in  the  docks  for  several  weeks,  I  rebuilt  and  re 
painted  it  in  such  a  manner  that  its  old  acquaintances 
would  not  have  known  it  had  they  encountered  it  on  the 
high  seas.  I  also  changed  the  name.  After  another  voy 
age,  I  sold  the  ship  at  a  sacrifice,  and  took  passage  for  iny 
native  land  as  Damon  Barker,  where  I  arrived  after  an 
absence  of  two  years,  and  by  mingling  with  seafaring 
men,  I  heard  that  the  "Agnes"  had  been  lost,  which  ici 
pression  was  generally  accepted. 

I  then  determined  to  locate  hi  the  West,  and  for  this 
purpose  bought  the  machinery  which  you  have  often  Been 
in  operation  on  Bull  River,  as  I  believed  milling  would 
to  a  profitable  business.  I  worked  for  a  time  as  a  laborer 


ABOUT  MBS.  TBEMAINE.  807 

In  a  mill,  to  become  familiar  with  its  workings,  aud  1 
bril>ed  the  head  man  to  teach  me  at  night.  How  I  came 
to  locate  within  twenty  miles  of  my  wife  and  child,  God 
only  knows,  for  they  arrived  here  before  I  did,  although 
I  did  not  know  it  until  four  years  afterward,  as  I  have 
already  related.  What  has  occurred  since,  you  know. 

One  more  paragraph,  and  I  dismiss  this  part  of  my  lift 
forever.  I  have  given  an  inference  that  I  am  an  only 
child,  which  is  true  so  far  as  my  mother  is  concerned,  but 
Mrs.  Tremaine,  whose  disappearance  with  your  father 
will  give  you  an  interest  hi  the  subject,  was  the  child  of 
my  father's  first  marriage.  I  believe,  although  I  do  not 
know  exactly  why,  that  his  first  marriage  was  something 
like  mine,  and  a  few  months  after  securing  a  divorce  he 
was  married  secretly  to  my  mother,  who  was  but  seven 
teen,  and  a  member  of  an  excellent  family.  While  I 
knew  where  Mrs.  Tremaine  lived,  and  knew  of  her  rela 
tion  to  me,  I  had  never  seen  ifer  but  once  or  twice,  which 
was  long  before  I  was  married  at  all,  and  in  my  despera 
tion  when  I  first  came  to  this  country,  I  sent  her  a  sum  of 
money,  accompanied  by  a  letter  of  explanation,  and 
untreated  her  to  visit  Bradford,  and  learn  how  the  child 
orospered.  It  happened  that  she  was  widowed  about 
taat  time,  and  instead  of  doing  as  I  directed,  she  came 
out  to  live  with  me.  I  confess  to  you  that  I  always  dis 
liked  her,  and  was  glad  when  she  went  away.  Her 
husband  was  a  quiet,  good  man,  and  I  think  he  must  have 
lied  of  neglect,  for  she  neglected  everybody  except 
tinners  and  drunkards.,  He  was  neither,  and  I  think  he 
died  from  indigestion,  induced  by  living  on  food  prepared 
by  himself.  That  she  was  a  failure  as  a  woman,  you  and 
I  know  very  well,  and  I  have  no  doubt  your  unfortunate 
father  admits  it  by  this  time. 

I  have  told  you,  in  brevity  and  in  truth,  my  life,  and  I 


308  THE  STOUY   OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

only  ask  that  you  destroy  this  immediately  after  you  have 
finished  the  reading.  If  you  treat  me  in  the  future  as 
you  have  in  the  past,  I  shall  believe  that  you  think  1 
was  justified  in  my  course ;  if  your  manner  toward  me 
changes,  I  will  understand  that  I  am  censured,  but  do  not 
refer  to  this  matter  in  any  manner  in  your  future  inter 
course  with  me.  I  dismiss  it  forever. 

Your  friend, 

BASKJBK. 


fJHAPTEK    XXVU. 

THE   LIGHT  GOES   OUT   FOREVEK 

DURING  the  fall  following  the  summer  when  Agnei 
went  to  live  with  her  new-found  father  at  the  mill, 
I  was  so  occupied  with  my  work,  and  with  my  mother, 
whose  health  was  failing  more  rapidly  than  ever,  that  I 
met  my  old  friends  in  Fairview  only  occasionally.  Sev 
eral  times  Jo  came  to  Twin  Mounds,  but  it  was  usually 
at  night,  as  if  he  desired  to  meet  as  few  of  the  people 
as  possible,  dreading  the  glances  of  wonder  which  his 
changed  appearance  attracted.  Often  I  transacted  busi 
ness  for  him  because  of  his  dislike  to  come  to  town 
during  the  day,  and  went  to  great  trouble  on  his  account, 
but  I  was  glad  to  do  it,  as  I  felt  that  I  could  never  repay 
his  acts  of  kindness  to  me. 

He  said  to  me  often  that  nothing  was  so  distasteful  to 
him  as  wrangles  over  business  affairs,  as  if  nothing  in  the 
world  was  so  important  as  the  possession  of  money,  and 
that  he  allowed  himself  to  be  robbed  rather  than  dispute 
and  quarrel,  which  knowledge  I  am  afraid  his  customers 
)ften  used  to  their  own  advantage.  His  business  re 
mained  profitable,  I  also  heard  him  say,  because  he  had  to 
keep  busy  to  avoid  self-destruction,  and  that  motive 
Beemed  to  succeed  quite  as  well  as  the  nobler  one  of 
ambition. 

II  he  came  to  the  house,  and  met  my  mother,  her  pain- 
ful  condition  had  a  bad  effect  upon  him,  so  that  he  finally 

300 


810  THE  STOR5T  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

avoided  her,  usually  coming  to  the  office  in  the  evening! 
when  he  knew  I  should  be  there.  I  think  she  never  knew 
he  was  in  trouble,  for  I  never  told  her,  and  she  seldom 
talked  to  any  one  else,  though  she  must  have  wondered 
at  the  remarkable  change  in  his  manner,  for  he  had 
grown  nervous  to  a  painful  degree,  and  looked  anxiously 
about  like  a  hunted  man.  Usually  when  he  came  to 
Twin  Mounds  he  had  no  other  errand  than  to  be  with  me 
for  a  few  hours;  at  these  times  he  would  go  over  his 
painful  stor}  in  detail,  and,  in  explaining  his  wretched 
ness,  try  to  justify  himself,  talking  of  it  in  such  a  pitiful 
way  that  I  became  nervous  myself  in  trying  to  devise 
some  way  out  of  the  difficulty.  He  talked  a  great  dea! 
of  how  the  people  would  blame  him  if  they  knew  the 
story ;  how  they  would  say  his  brain  was  softening,  or 
that  he  ought  to  be  sent  to  an  asylum,  and  then  he  would 
put  the  case  to  me  again,  and  ask  me  to  judge  if  his 
trouble  was  not  justified.  I  always  believed  that  it  was, 
more  because  I  knew  that  my  friend,  a  man  of  promise, 
was  in  distress,  than  because  I  had  impartially  judged  it, 
ttnd  so  I  always  told  him,  but  this  gave  him  little  satisfao 
tiou,  for  he  said  that  in  my  friendship  for  him  perhaps  1 
did  not  do  Mateel  the  justice  she  deserved. 

When  the  weather  was  fine,  I  drove  him  home  at  night, 
and  I  think  we  always  met  Bragg  driving  toward  the 
town.  Except  that  he  was  more  of  a  dog  than  ever,  there 
was  little  change  in  the  fellow,  and  he  moped  about  io 
his  usual  listless  fashion,  doing  nothing  but  mischief,  and 
occasionally  becoming  maudlin  from  drinking  out  of  hit 
buttle.  He  probably  watched  Jo's  coming  that  he  might 
meet  him  on  the  road  as  an  annoyance,  and  I  always 
trembled  when  I  saw  them  meet,  for  Jo's  hatred  for  him 
was  intense,  and  he  would  have  been  delighted  with  tb 
ilightest  excuse  to  beat  him. 


A  FRACAS.  311 

Once  when  lie  gave  so  little  of  the  road  that  his  wheels 
locked  in  ours,  Jo  sprang  out,  and,  pulling  him  from  his 
buggy  with  one  hand,  hit  him  such  a  blow  with  the  other 
that  he  reeled  and  fell  in  the  underbrush  beside  the  road. 
I  could  not  leave  the  team,  or  I  should  have  sprung  be 
tween  them,  but  Jo  realized  his  superior  strength,  and  did 
not  strike  him  the  second  time,  but  stood  over  him  with 
every  muscle  quivering  in  restraint.  The  vicious  horse 
was  awed  by  his  master's  misfortune,  and  stood  trembling 
in  the  road,  as  if  afraid  to  move.  When  we  drove  on  I 
saw  Bragg  pick  himself  up,  and  after  wiping  the  blood 
from  his  face  with  leaves,  climb  into  the  buggy,  and  hurry 
away,  and  although  night  was  coming  on,  I  could  see  him 
on  the  next  hill,  an  ugly  speck  on  the  horizon,  still  wiping 
away  the  blood,  as  though  there  had  been  a  profuse  flow. 
For  several  days  after  that  when  I  met  him  I  could  see  a 
livid  mark  on  the  left  side  of  his  face,  and  there  was  a  cut 
on  his  lip  which  did  not  entirely  heal  for  weeks. 

I  never  knew,  but  I  think  it  is  probable  that  Mateel  be 
lieved  that  I  accused  her  more  than  I  did,  or  that  I  rather 
encouraged  Jo  in  his  ugly  moods,  which  was  not  the  case, 
though  I  confess  that  I  did  little  to  effect  a  reconciliation, 
being  impressed  from  the  first  that  it  was  impossible.  His 
humiliation  was  so  intense  that  I  could  not  bring  myself 
to  speak  lightly  of  it,  as  though  he  were  a  weak  maa 
harboring  a  caprice,  and  I  still  believe  that  in  this  I  wa« 
right.  Anyway,  she  barely  recognized  my  presence  when 
I  went  there  at  night  with  her  husband,  and  never  spoke 
to  me  about  the  trouble  between  them.  I  was  more  im 
pressed  on  each  visit  that  she  was  helpless,  and  bad  not 
the  strength  to  attempt  to  reclaim  him  from  his  depres 
sion,  or  else  she  had  tried  everything  at  the  beginning  and 
given  up  in  despair.  Had  she  attempted  to  win  him  back 
to  her  he  would  ^ve  told  me,  but  as  he  only  spoke  of  tb« 


812  THE  STORY  OF   A    COUNTRY 

ease  with  which  she  accepted  his  request  to  never  shon 
him  the  slightest  attention,  I  am  sure  she  never  did. 

Although  I  cannot  now  remember  whether  he  told  me 
directly,  or  whether  I  learned  it  from  all  that  was  said,  I 
knew  that  he  was  always  waiting  for  her  to  ask  him  to 
modify  or  withdraw  his  request,  and  that  in  the  stillness 
of  the  night  he  prayed  that  she  would  at  least  come  to 
him  and  regret  his  unhappiness,  but  if  she  was  not  indif 
ferent  to  it  all  she  was  an  admirable  actress.  I  knew  he 
would  have  gone  to  her  but  for  this  indifference,  but  she 
seemed  to  care  so  little  about  it  that  he  was  ashamed  to  go. 
Once  in  my  presence  —  and  often  when  I  was  not  there  — 
he  apologized  for  his  cruelty,  but  her  manner  indicated 
that  the  apology  was  unnecessary,  and  that  there  was  no 
occasion  to  mention  it.  I  felt  that  Jo  was  mortified  at 
this,  and  that  they  were  now  further  apart  than  ever. 

Perhaps  I  worried  so  much  about  Jo  at  this  time  that  I 
never  tried  to  form  an  opinion  as  to  whether  she  loved 
her  husband  as  much  as  I  knew  he  loved  her,  or  whether 
her  dejected  manner  was  due  to  mortification  or  regret. 
I  was  witness  to  incidents  which  confirmed  me  in  both 
these  opinions,  so  that  I  think  I  must  have  concluded  that 
one  caused  her  as  much  trouble  as  the  other.  I  often 
thought  to  speak  to  her  and  say  she  misjudged  me  ;  that 
I  would  gladly  serve  her  if  I  could,  and  that  in  my  friend 
ship  for  Jo  I  had  no  unkind  thought  of  her,  but  the  favcr" 
able  opportunity  never  came,  and  I  neglected  it. 

Although  at  long  intervals  Agnes  came  to  visit  iny 
mother,  she  usually  went  away  again  before  I  had  seen 
her.  and  only  once  during  this  time  did  I  find  opportunity 
to  visit  her  at  the  mill.  It  was  in  the  winter,  when  my 
mother  seemed  much  better,  and  I  was  greatly  impressed 
by  the  change  at  the  mill.  The  heavy  wooden  shutter* 
formerly  at  the  windows  were  taken  down  entirely,  or  left 


CHANGES   IN   BARKER'S   HOME.  313 

iride  open ;  the  thick  growth  of  trees  had  been  cleared 
out,  and  in  every  way  the  house  seemed  more  cheerful 
than  it  had  been.  I  could  no  longer,  as  I  had  done  be 
fore,  think  of  the  house  as  the  home  of  a  desperate  man 
who  had  retired  with  his  ill-gotten  gains  and  who  was  al< 
ways  expecting  occasion  to  defend  himself  ;  and  I  thought 
I  had  never  seen  Agnes  look  so  contented  and  happy  as 
she  did  in  her  own  home,  although  she  had  always  beer 
that.  A  great  lump  rose  in  my  throat  as  I  remembered 
that  all  of  them  seemed  to  be  getting  on  better  than  my 
self,  for  as  I  looked  around  the  pleasant  place,  the  cheer 
less  rooms  at  home,  where  my  mother  sat  the  day  out  and 
in  again,  appeared  before  me  ;  I  thought  of  the  unhappi- 
ness  at  Jo's,  where  I  intended  to  stop  on  my  return,  of 
my  father  wandering  about,  a  homeless  and  disgraced 
man,  and  of  my  tiresome  work,  which  seemed  never  to  end, 
but  I  could  not  help  feeling  keen  pleasure  that  patient 
Agnes  had  reason  to  be  happy  at  last,  as  I  knew  she  was, 
for  every  action  showed  it,  and  the  house  and  everything 
in  it  seemed  to  be  repeating  it. 

When  I  first  went  there  as  a  boy  to  visit  Barker  the 
loom  which  Agues  afterwards  made  into  a  parlor  was  used 
for  storing  sacks,  and  I  never  looked  in  at  the  door  that  I 
did  not  see  venerable  rats  hurrying  away  to  their  holes,  evi 
dently  as  much  alarmed  at  my  presence  as  I  was  at  theirs, 
and  even  the  damp  room  where  B.  used  to  sit  and  collect 
moisture  had  dried  out  from  having  the  sun  often  let  into  it. 
The  great  room  above,  where  we  had  the  suppers  and  the 
Btories,  was  not  much  changed,  except  that  it  was  cleaner 
and  lighter,  and  the  magic  of  a  woman's  touch  was  every 
where  apparent.  The  box  stove  in  which  we  had  made 
the  famous  fires,  the  table  at  which  Barker  sat,  and  the 
revolving  shelf  where  he  kept  his  books,  were  just  the 
wine,  and  but  for  the  presence  of  Agnes  I  should  h  av« 


1)14  THE  8TOBY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWTX. 

imagined  that  the  master  had  stepped  into  the  next  roon 
to  look  through  the  mysterious  bores  for  relics  to  amaM 
the  two  barefoot  boys  who  carne  over  from  Fairview  occa- 
iionally  to  visit  him.  But  I  found  that  the  boxes  were  no 
longer  in  the  next  room ;  they  had  been  sent  to  the  mill 
loft,  for  nothing  was  left  to  remind  them  that  they  had 
ever  been  separated,  or  that  there  had  been  a  shadow 
across  their  path.  The  room  where  Jo  and  I  had  slept 
when  visiting  Barker  was  now  occupied  by  Agnes  herseli, 
and  I  sat  down  by  the  window  and  told  her  how  her  father 
came  in  and  stood  beside  the  bed  after  we  had  retired,  as 
if  dreading  to  be  left  alone,  where  he  remained  until  we 
were  sound  asleep ;  how  I  had  wakened  once  in  the  mid 
dle  of  the  night,  and,  creeping  to  his  door,  found  him  sit- 
ting  at  the  table  with  his  hat  and  coat  on,  as  if  ready  to 
run  away ;  how  generous  and  considerate  he  had  always 
been  with  us,  and  how  we  esteemed  him  as  a  noble  man, 
and  how  glad  I  was  that  she  had  found  in  my  old  friend 
one  greater  than  a  friend.  To  this  Agnes  would  only 
reply  that  there  was  nothing  now  to  interfere  with  their 
peace  and  content  except  the  knowledge  that  some  of 
their  old  friends  were  in  trouble. 

Although  I  knew  that  Big  Adam  had  followed  Agnes 
lo  the  mill,  and  become  the  assistant,  I  was  made  further 
aware  of  it  by  hearing  him  talking  about  his  work  while 
we  were  yet  in  the  house,  which  sounded  like  distant 
thunder,  for  his  voice  seemed  to  have  grown  hoarser  with 
age.  When  I  went  down  to  call  on  him  he  hugged  me 
like  a  bear,  and  only  released  me  when  the  miller  himself 
appeared  to  greet  me. 

Big  Adam  seemed  to  be  pleased  with  his  new  position, 
and  he  frequently  came  around  to  remark  secretly  to  me 
that  every  family  had  its  deaths  by  Indians,  which  J 
«uiderstood  was  a  reference  to  the  mysterious  manner  La 


THE  ASSISTANT  MELLFR.  315 

rhich  Agnes  had  found  her  father,  and  he  was  a  sworn 
friend  of  Barker's  because  he  seemed  to  hate  his  old  enemy, 
When  not  engaged  in  this  manner,  Big  Adam  was  rub 
bing  against  me,  that  I  might  get  flour  dust  on  my 
clothes,  and  understand  that  he  was  a  miller,  but  after 
noticing  it,  he  brushed  me  down  with  great  ceremony 
and  many  apologies.  As  I  walked  about  the  mill  with  the 
proprietor,  I  heard  the  assistant  draw  a  great  many  corks, 
and  pour  out  liquor  which  seemed  to  be  very  old  and 
rich,  and  which  came  out  of  the  bottle  in  hoarse  gurgles. 

I  could  not  help  remarking  of  Barker  that  time  had 
suddenly  ceased  to  tell  on  him,  and  that  he  seemed  to  be 
growing  younger ;  for  all  the  distressed  lines  of  care  had 
disappeared  from  his  face,  and  his  eyes  were  brighter,  and 
smiles  were  no  longer  strangers  to  him.  His  old  habit  of 
casting  quick  glances  in  every  direction,  as  if  always 
expecting  the  sudden  arrival  of  a  dreaded  visitor,  was  no 
longer  a  characteristic;  it  had  disappeared  entirely,  and 
instead  he  was  quiet  in  his  manner,  and  apparently  quite 
at  his  ease.  When  I  had  known  him  in  my  boyhood,  there 
were  times  when  I  feared  him ;  when  I  expected  him  to 
break  out  in  a  violent  temper,  and,  declaring  that  he  was 
tired  of  a  lawful  existence,  murder  Jo  and  me  with  a 
volley  from  all  his  brass  pistols  at  once,  and  set  out  to 
join  his  old  companions,  but  now  there  was  a  serenity  on 
his  face  which  betokened  peace  and  quiet  content.  He 
had  no  ambition  beyond  the  happiness  of  his  child  and  a 
quiet  life  at  the  mill,  and  as  he  had  means  in  abundance, 
he  had  little  to  disturb  and  annoy  him. 

I  did  not  have  long  to  talk  with  him,  as  my  visit  was 
hurried,  but  he  told  me  during  the  time  that  he  was 
worried  about  Jo,  and  that  if  at  any  time  I  concluded 
lhat  he  needed  his  aid  —  I  was  with  him  more,  and  apt  to 
Know  should  that  emergency  arise — I  had  only  to  com- 


816  THE  STORY   OF   A  COUNTRY   TOWN. 

mand  him,  no  difference  what  the  service  was.  1  thiti 
he  imagined  the  trouble  was  in  some  way  connected  witli 
money,  for  he  said  repeatedly  that  he  was  now  easy  in 
that  particular,  and  ready  to  assist  his  friends.  When  I 
told  him  it  was  not  that,  he  was  very  much  concerned, 
although  he  did  not  inquire  further,  aud  afterwards 
became  grave  and  thoughtful  in  thinking  about  it. 

In  returning  from  this  visit  to  Barker's  —  it  was  in  mid 
rinter,  a  short  time  after  the  holidays —  1  was  very  much 
surprised  to  meet  Jo  Erring  walking  toward  me  in  the  road, 
apparently  on  his  way  to  the  mill.  He  stopped  before  1 
came  up  with  him,  as  if  considering  whether  he  should 
go  on,  or  back  with  me,  and,  settling  it  as  I  drove  up,  he 
st  epped  into  the  buggy  and  sat  down  beside  me. 

Although  the  day  was  cold,  he  said  as  we  drove  along 
that  he  had  been  walking  through  the  woods  to  amuse 
himself,  and  was  not  going  anywhere.  I  remember  him 
particularly  on  this  afternoon  because  he  declared  that  he 
would  not  mention  his  trouble  to  me  again,  as  even  I  mu?t 
have  concluded  that  he  was  in  the  wrong.  I  replied  in  such 
a  way  as  to  confirm  him  in  this  belief  —  through  hesitancy 
<n  framing  my  answer,  it  must  have  been,  for  I  did  not 
nean  to  —  and  this  hurt  him  so  much  that  he  looked  awuy 
to  hide  his  tears.  I  assured  him  that  I  never  questioned 
his  manliness  in  the  matter,  and  only  thought  of  it  to 
pity  him,  but  he  would  only  say  that  he  was  about  con* 
vine ?d  himself  that  he  was  wrong,  although  he  could  not 
help  it ;  he  could  not  keep  his  thoughts  off  his  humiliating 
marriage,  and  there  was  nothing  left  him  but  disgrace  and 
ruin. 

As  I  looked  at  him  I  became  more  than  ever  aware  oi 
his  haggard,  desperate  appearance  ;  of  his  nervous  twitch, 
ing,  and  the  quick  and  excited  way  in  which  he  did 
everything.  He  had  formerly  been  very  neat  in  hit 


BKA.GG  APPEAIIS  AGAIN.  &V 

iress,  but  he  was  now  careless  in  this  regard,  and  instead  i 
of  sitting  upright  beside  me,  he  wobbled  about,  and 
leemed  to  be  un jointed  as  well  as  uncomfortable.  No 
position  was  easy  for  him,  and  at  times  he  acted  like  a 
drunken  man.  He  started  several  times  to  say  something 
in  justification  of  himself,  but  before  he  had  fairly  begun 
lh?.  sentence,  he  gave  it  up,  and  leaned  back  in  his  seat 
again,  convinced  that  it  was  a  waste  of  time  to  talk 
further  about  it,  or  remembering  that  he  had  resolved  to 
say  less  in  future.  Perhaps  he  had  thought  so  much  over 
his  trouble  that  his  brain  was  tired,  and  it  was  painful  to 
speak.  Although  he  had  previously  been  a  robust  man, 
he  had  grown  pale  and  thin,  and  there  were  indications  of 
fever  in  his  face,  though  when  I  put  the  question  to  him, 
he  said  he  was  as  well  as  usual. 

When  we  came  in  sight  of  his  house  —  we  were  on  the 
other  side  of  the  creek,  opposite  the  mill  —  I  was  sur 
prised  to  find  Clinton  Bragg's  buggy  hitched  at  the  gate 
At  that  time  Jo  was  looking  down  at  his  feet,  so  that  he 
did  not  see  it,  and  I  thought  to  turn  around,  and  drive 
another  away,  but  my  unusual  action  attracted  his  notice, 
and  he  quickly  raised  his  head.  I  shall  never  forget  the 
look  of  indignation  and  horror  which  appeared  on  his  face 
when  he  looked  up,  and,  taking  a  second  glance,  he  sprang 
out  of  the  buggy,  and  ran  toward  the  dam.  I  knew  his 
intention  was  to  cross  it,  and  though  it  was  a  dangerous 
undertaking,  he  jumped  the  gaps  in  it  like  a  desperate 
suiiinal  after  prey. 

The  ford  was  a  short  distance  below,  but  before  I 
reached  it,  I  saw  him  climbing  the  abrupt  bluff  on  the 
other  side,  helping  himself  by  grasping  the  underbrush, 
&nd  slipping  and  falling  on  the  frozen  ground.  I  turned 
the  corner  of  the  mill  at  this  moment,  and  drove  into  tin 
ford,  and  when  I  came  up  to  the  house,  Jo  had 


818  THE  STORY  OF  A   COUNTRY  TOWN. 

peared  on  the  inside.  Hurriedly  hitching  the  team,  1 
almost  ran  into  the  house,  fearing  there  would  be  marde: 
done,  but  when  I  opened  the  door,  and  stepped  in,  I  found 
them  all  in  the  front  room  —  Clinton  Bragg,  pale  and 
trembling,  near  the  door  ;  Jo,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
room,  in  a  great  state  of  excitement,  and  Mat  eel  between 
them.  I  had  never  seen  her  assert  herself  before,  and  it 
awed  her  angry  husband  into  submission.  There  was  a 
look  of  dignity  in  her  face,  and  her  eyes  flashed  as  I  had 
n°ver  seen  them.  I  could  see  she  had  been  talking  ex 
citedly,  and  she  continued  after  looking  up  as  I  came  in  :  — 
"  You  have  insulted  my  womanhood  by  this  action,  and 
cast  suspicion  on  my  honor,"  she  said,  trembling  violently. 
"  The  gentleman  drove  up  but  a  moment  ago  on  a  trifling 
errand  from  my  mother,  and  I  could  do  nothing  else  than 
admit  him.  He  sat  down  by  the  fire  to  warm,  when  you 
came  bounding  in  like  a  jealous  demon  whose  worst  BUS 
picions  had  been  confirmed,  and  would  have  killed  him 
had  I  not  thrown  myself  in  the  way.  You  have  given 
him  reason  to  believe  that  you  doubted  my  honor  ;  every 
one  who  hears  of  this  disgraceful  proceeding  will  have 
the  same  opinion.  You  have  wronged  me  in  the  most 
cruel  manner,  and  I  can  no  longer  remain  silent.  In 
justice  to  myself  as  your  wife  I  protest,  and  demand  thai 
you  save  me  from  disgrace  by  allowing  him  to  depart  in 


She  was  magnificent  in  her  indignation,  and  Jo  cowered 
before  her,  though  there  was  so  much  hatred  in  his  face 
that  he  looked  like  an  animal. 

u  I  shall  ask  him  in  your  presence  to  take  me  back  to 
my  mother,"  Mateel  went  on  to  say,  watching  her  hus 
band  narrowly,  as  if  fearing  that  he  would  spring  at  Clin 
ton  Bragg  at  the  suggestion,  "to  remain  there  until  yon 
tome  to  me,  and  acknowledge  that  you  were  wrong."  I 


MATEEL  INDIGNANT. 

felt  sick  and  faint  when  she  said  it,  for  I  believed  that  if 
the  went  away  with  Bragg  she  would  never  come  back. 
"  When  you  come  to  yourself  you  will  respect  me  for  it. 
I  have  allowed  you  so  much  liberty  in  the  past  that  I 
feel  that  I  must  do  this  to  vindicate  your  wife ;  to  redeem 
her  from  the  stain  your  disordered  fancy  has  put  upon 
her." 

She  swept  past  me  and  up  the  stairs  to  her  room  to 
prepare  for  the  journey,  and  like  a  cowardly  dog  Bragg 
crept  out  behind  her,  and  on  out  to  the  front  gate,  where 
be  shivered  and  waited  in  the  cold. 

Her  determination  so  impressed  me  as  a  mistaken  one 
that  I  would  have  followed  her  up  the  stairs,  and  begged 
her  to  think  again  before  taking  the  step,  but  Jo  made  a 
mute  appeal  to  me  to  remain  where  I  was,  which  I  reluc 
tantly  did.  Falling  into  a  chair  which  stood  near  him,  he 
raised  his  head  occasionally  to  listen  as  his  wife  went  about 
the  room  above  where  we  sat,  collecting  a  few  articles  into 
a  package  ;  when  she  stopped  a  moment  he  listened  more 
eagerly  than  before,  hoping,  I  have  no  doubt,  that  she  was 
debating  in  her  own  mind  whether  her  determination 
was  not  rash  and  hasty ;  he  followed  her  footsteps  as  they 
3ame  part  way  down  the  stairs ;  he  followed  them  back 
into  the  room  again,  where  she  went  as  if  something  had 
been  forgotten,  and  down  the  stairs  until  she  paused 
timidly  at  the  door,  and  as  she  pushed  it  open  and  came 
in  he  shuddered  to  see  that  she  was  dressed  for  the  ride. 
I  think  he  never  doubted  that  she  would  come  back,  and 
lay  she  had  given  it  up,  but  when  he  saw  that  her  deter 
mination  continued  he  buried  his  face  in  his  hands,  and 
leaned  his  head  on  the  back  of  the  chair  on  which  he  sat. 

I  could  see  that  Mateel  had  been  weeping  while  out  oi 
the  room,  and  that  it  was  with  great  effort  she  maintained 


520  THE  STORY   OF  A    COUNTRY  TOWN. 

her  composure.  She  stood  near  the  door,  buttoning  h«i 
gloves,  and  spoke  to  me  as  much  as  to  Jo :  — 

"  I  hope  that  what  I  am  about  to  do  is  for  the  best ;  ii 
it  were  not  I  am  sure  that  God  would  not  permit  me  to 
go  away.  Surely  in  His  wisdom  He  would  guide  me  dif 
ferently  if  my  action  threatens  to  make  us  more  unhappy 
than  we  have  been." 

She  had  finished  putting  on  her  gloves,  and  there  was 
no  further  excuse  for  her  to  stay,  but  she  remained,  and 
trembled  and  hesitated. 

"He  has  imagined  so  much,"  she  was  talking  to  me 
now,  "  that  if  I  allow  this  to  go  unrebuked  he  will  be 
confirmed  in  his  unjust  suspicions.  I  feel  that  if  I  do 
this  it  will  be  better  for  my  husband,  better  for  myself, 
and  for  all  of  us.  I  have  heretofore  said  nothing 
submitting  to  a  great  many  indignities  which  his  changed 
disposition  implied;  but  he  has  grown  unhappier  every 
day.  It  cannot  be  wrong  if  I  ask  that  he  respect  my 
womanhood  as  I  have  always  respected  his  manhood.  I 
have  felt  that  I  have  pursued  a  wrong  course  from  the 
first ;  at  this  late  day  I  attempt  reparation,  though  it  al 
most  kills  me  to  do  it." 

She  had  advanced  a  step  or  two  toward  her  husband, 
and  as  he  made  no  reply  to  what  she  said,  she  seemed 
anxious  to  justify  her  course  still  further,  and  continued, 
this  time  talking  to  both  of  us :  — 

"  If  I  have  failed  to  be  an  acceptable  wife,  it  was  be- 
» ause  my  husband's  unhappiness  distressed  me  so  much  that 
I  was  unable  to  accomplish  all  that  my  heart  suggested 
I  have  thought  of  this  so  much  that  my  health  has  become 
impaired,  and  1  have  lost  the  power  to  act.  I  was  a  weak 
»nd  puny  girl ;  I  fear  I  am  a  weaker  woman,  and  if  I 
seem  to  have  been  helpless  in  the  sorrow  which  has  com* 
upon  our  house,  it  was  because  I  was  dumb  at  the  enor 


THE  SEPABATIOK.  821 

inity  of  it ,  I  tried  in  my  weak  way  to  explain  it  and 
effect  a  reconciliation,  but  he  told  me  that  every  thing  I 
said  made  it  worse.  I  could  do  nothing  then  but  bear 
the  burden  bravely.  He  asked  me  as  a  favor  to  let  him 
alone ;  as  an  obedient  wife  I  did  the  best  I  could,  hoping 
all  the  time  that  he  would  recall  his  cruel  request.  I  have 
not  dared  to  express  my  regret  at  his  unhappiness,  fear 
ing  he  would  not  like  it,  and  God  is  my  witness  that  it  is 
not  my  fault  that  we  have  lived  as  strangers  so  long." 

As  I  paid  respectful  attention,  and  her  husband  none 
at  all, —  his  face  was  turned  from  her,  —  she  addressed 
herself  to  me  again :  — 

"  I  hope  it  will  be  always  understood  that  I  am  taking 
this  step  not  in  anger,  but  because  I  feel  that  I  must  do 
something.  I  cannot  live  as  I  have  been  living,  and  self- 
preservation  suggests  action  of  some  kind.  Perhaps  what 
I  am  doing  is  not  wise,  but  I  can  think  of  nothing  else.  I 
have  always  felt  that  I  should  have  been  more  indepen 
dent,  and  asserted  myself  more.  I  hope  he  will  under 
stand,  and  respect  my  determination." 

Although  I  felt  that  I  ought  to  interfere,  I  knew  it  was 
useless  and  idle,  and  perhaps  would  offend  them  both,  so 
I  held  my  peace. 

"  If  he  will  ask  me  to  remain,"  she  was  losing  her  dig- 
lity  and  composure  very  rapidly,  and  when  I  realized  how 
pale  and  weak  she  was  I  wondered  she  had  held  up  so 
long,  "I  will  reconsider;  or  I  will  ask  you  to  take  me 
home>  instead  of  Clinton  Bragg,  if  he  desires  it.  I  wiL 
cb  anything  he  wishes." 

Not  a  word,  Jo  ?  Will  you  refuse  your  trembling  wife 
advice  when  she  asks  it,  and  then  hold  her  responsible  if 
ihe  adopts  the  wrong  course? 

When  Jo  did  not  reply,  Mateel  seemed  to  think  that 
aere  was  nothing  left  for  her  to  do  but  to  go,  and  nevei 


822  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTKY  TOWN. 

come  back ;  and  walking  over  to  him,  she  said  in  a  voice 
whHi  has  since  remained  a  sob  in  my  memory :  — 

"  Won't  you  bid  me  good-by  ?  " 

He  remained  still  and  motionless,  as  before. 

Falling  on  her  knees  before  him,  and  holding  her  handa 
out  to  him  imploringly,  she  repeated  the  request,  but  lie 
did  not  move  or  speak,  and  after  waiting  a  moment,  Ma- 
tecl  rose  to  her  feet  in  a  dazed  sort  of  way,  and,  staggering 
toward  the  door,  went  out  into  the  hall  and  down  tire 
steps,  without  once  looking  back.  When  he  heard  the 
door  close  upon  her,  Jo  ran  to  the  window,  and  as  he 
looked  out  his  breathing  was  short  and  quick.  Standing 
beside  him,  I  saw  that  a  snow-storm  was  commencing, 
and  that  the  day  was  far  advanced.  Bragg  helped  Ma- 
teel  into  the  buggy  with  an  insolent  sort  of  politeness,  and, 
seating  himself  beside  her,  drove  away. 

After  they  had  passed  down  the  hill  which  led  to  the 
ford,  Jo  sprang  nimbly  up  to  the  sill  of  the  window,  and 
eagerly  watched  them.  As  soon  as  they  passed  out  of 
sight  from  that  position,  he  jumped  down,  and  ran  up  the 
stairs,  and  when  I  followed,  I  found  him  standing  in  the 
window  in  Mateel's  room,  peering  after  his  rapidly  de 
parting  wife.  As  they  drove  out  of  the  ford,  and  into 
the  edge  of  the  woods,  they  were  for  a  moment  in  full 
view,  but,  turning  directly  away,  were  soon  lost  in  the 
gathering  twilight.  Hoping  that  a  turn  in  the  road,  or  an 
opening  in  the  timber,  would  reveal  them  again,  he  re 
mained  watching  for  several  minutes,  jumping  down,  and 
running  hurriedly  from  window  to  window.  When  he 
was  at  last  certain  that  they  had  finally  gone,  he  got 
down  slowly  from  his  perch,  and,  throwing  himself  on 
the  bed,  wept  and  sobbed  aloud. 

Knowing  that  I  could  not  leave  him,  and  that  I  was  ez 
l>ected  at  home,  I  went  down  to  the  mill,  and  n«ked  th< 


HOPELESS  SORROW  823 

assistant  to  drive  to  town  and  inform  my  mother  that  Jo 
was  ill,  and  that  I  should  not  return  till  morning.  TLi* 
he  readily  agreed  to  do  and  was  soon  on  the  way. 

Returning  to  the  house,  I  soon  had  the  lamps  lighted, 
and  the  fires  burning,  and  went  up  stairs  to  where  Jo  still 
lay  motionless  on  the  bed.  He  had  not  changed  his  posi 
tion,  although  he  was  no  longer  sobbing  except  at  long 
intervals,  like  a  child  recovering  from  a  protracted  period 
of  weeping.  I  now  noticed  for  the  first  time  that  he  was 
much  like  my  mother  in  his  sullen  grief,  for  a  hundred 
times  I  had  sat  beside  her  bed  for  hours  when  she  wag 
depressed,  asking  her  to  speak  to  me,  but  while  she 
seemed  to  appreciate  my  thoughtfulness  in  remaining 
with  her,  she  would  never  answer,  but  tossed  about  from 
side  to  side,  always  avoiding  my  eyes.  I  repeatedly  asked 
him  if  there  was  anything  I  could  do,  but  he  would  not 
reply,  and  at  last  covered  his  head,  as  if  he  would  hide 
his  sorrow  from  me.  Out  of  consideration  for  him,  I 
removed  the  light  to  another  room,  and,  returning,  sat 
down  in  the  darkness  by  his  side. 

An  hour  passed,  and  then  another,  and  still  another,  and 
nothing  could  be  heard  but  the  ticking  of  the  clock,  and 
the  occasional  sighs  of  the  unhappy  man  on  the  bed,  which 
became  so  painful  to  me  that  I  began  to  watch  for  and 
dread  them,  and  wonder  whether  the  most  pitiful  thing  in 
the  world  was  not  a  strong  man  weeping.  I  have  since 
heard  my  own  children  sob  in  their  sleep  as  Jo  Erring  did 
that  night,  and  felt  again  how  wretched  I  was  as  I  sat 
there  waiting  for  him  to  speak. 

When  it  was  time  for  the  man  to  return  from  town,  I 
began  to  listen  for  the  first  noise  of  his  approach,  until  at 
last,  becoming  nervous  that  he  delayed  so  long,  I  went 
lown  to  the  front  door,  and  out  to  the  gate  to  look  down 
the  road,  when  I  found  that  the  snow  waa  falling  ii 


S24  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

earnest,  threatening  a  great  storm.  Another  hour  passodj 
and  at  last  I  heard  the  sound  of  wheels.  Hurrying  down 
fco  the  gate,  I  received  from  the  hands  of  the  assistant  a 
note,  and  when  I  went  back  to  the  light,  I  was  alarmed  to 
find  that  it  was  from  a  neighbor  of  ours,  and  to  the  effect 
that  my  mother  was  dangerously  ill,  and  that  my  coming 
should  not  be  delayed.  I  went  into  Jo's  room,  and  told 
him  of  it,  hoping  he  would  propose  to  go  to  town  with 
me,  but  as  he  paid  no  attention,  I  left  the  note  on  the 
table  beside  him,  and  hurried  away. 

The  horses  were  jaded  from  the  long  day's  work,  but  I 
urged  them  along  the  rough  roads  at  a  rapid  pace.  Every 
bush  had  grown  into  a  white-robed  phantom,  and  I  im 
agined  that  one  of  them  was  my  father,  pleading  to  be 
taken  up,  and  hurried  to  the  end  of  his  long  journey; 
that  another  was  my  mother  come  out  to  meet  me,  dis 
tressed  at  my  long  delay;  in  still  another  I  could  see 
a  resemblance  to  Jo  as  I  left  him  lying  on  the  bed,  except 
that  the  drapery  of  white  covered  everything.  I  saw 
Mateel  kneeling  at  a  tomb  in  which  I  thought  must  be 
buried  her  hope,  and  so  many  mounds  took  the  shape  of 
graves  that  I  mercilessly  lashed  the  horses,  and  it  was  but 
an  hour  after  midnight  when  the  lights  of  Twin  Mounds 
began  to  appear.  When  I  came  into  the  town,  the  housew 
seemed  to  be  great  monuments  of  white,  as  though  the 
beople  had  said  their  prayers  and  died  when  the  snow 
ame,  and  down  the  street  I  could  see  the  light  which  was 
aiways  shining  for  one  who  never  came. 

When  I  hurried  into  the  house  I  saw  that  my  mother's 
room  was  full  of  pitying  faces,  and  that  the  people  mad(± 
way  for  me  as  I  approached  the  pale  form  on  the  bed.  I 
vas  so  frightened  that  I  could  do  nothing  but  kneel  down, 
Bad  burst  into  tears,  and  while  I  knelt  thus  I  knew  that 
Wy  mother's  hand  was  placed  lovingly  on  my  head 


THE  UGHT  IN  THE  WINDOW.  32& 

WTien  1  recovered  sufficient  composure  to  look  at  her,  I 
saw  that  she  was  lying  precisely  as  I  had  left  Jo ;  he* 
arms  thrown  out  carelessly  on  either  side,  and  there  were 
tears  in  her  eyes,  and  a  look  of  inexpressible  grief  on  her 
face.  Occasionally  she  took  a  long  breath,  and  sobbed,  aa 
her  brother  had  done,  and  she  turned  her  head  away  from 
me,  as  he  had  done,  but  not  until  I  saw  that  there  was 
blood  on  her  lips,  when  it  was  softly  explained  in  answer 
to  my  look  of  alarm  that  she  had  had  a  haemorrhage.  I 
tried  to  make  myself  believe  that  it  was  but  an  attack 
which  would  soon  be  over,  but  the  people  who  were 
gathered  about  were  so  serious  that  my  tears  came  afresh, 
and  I  could  do  nothing  but  hope. 

She  had  turned  her  face  away  from  me,  and  remained 
in  that  position  so  long  that  it  was  suggested  that  perhaps 
she  was  asleep.  Some  one  went  softly  around  to  that 
side  of  the  room  to  see  her  face,  and  looking  at  the  others 
hi  quick  alarm,  they  came  crowding  around  the  bed :  the 
patient  watcher  was  dead. 

Let  the  bleak  winds  take  up  the  cry  of  the  unhappy  son, 
and  carry  it  across  rivers  and  fields  to  the  wanderer,  that 
he  need  not  return ;  that  the  light  in  the  window  has  gone 
out,  and  that  the  watcher  who  waited  so  long  to  forgive 
Mm  is  dead.  Let  them  look  for  him  in  all  the  places 
where  hunted  men  hide,  and  deliver  the  message  that  a 
pitying  angel  came,  and,  taking  the  light  which  offered 
forgiveness  and  peace  so  long,  planted  it  in  the  heavens, 
where  it  will  remain  forever,  a  pitying  star,  offering  mercy 
to  all  men  who  are  weary  and  in  distrewi 


CHAPTER  XXVm. 

TOO  LATE. 

11HE  fall  of  snow  continued  through  the  night,  and 
during  the  following  day,  and  there  was  grave  doubt 
whether  those  who  had  been  sent  for  could  arrive  in  time 
for  the  funeral,  for  great  drifts  had  collected  in  the  roads, 
and  it  was  very  cold.  The  people  who  came  in  talked 
more  of  the  weather  than  of  the  dead,  and  it  was  whis 
pered  among  them  that  such  a  storm  had  never  been  known 
before  in  the  history  of  the  country.  A  man  who  had 
been  out  to  dig  the  grave  came  in  and  whispered  to  his  wife 
that  the  ground  was  frozen  to  a  wonderful  depth,  and  that 
those  who  were  helping  him  could  only  work  a  few  min 
utes  at  a  time,  and  that  the  grave  filled  up  with  drifting 
snow  almost  as  fast  as  they  could  throw  it  out. 

This  was  on  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day,  and  as  the 
evening  wore  on,  lights  were  brought  into  the  room  where 
I  sat.  One  by  one  the  people  who  were  at  the  house  went 
away,  leaving  only  those  who  were  to  watch  through  the 
night,  and  as  each  one  went  out,  they  remarked  the  sev. 
erity  of  the  weather,  and  shuddered  and  shivered  before 
stepping  out  into  the  drifting  snow.  I  believe  I  felt  a 
relief  when  they  were  gone,  for  I  desired  to  be  alone.  I 
hoped  I  was  not  ungrateful  for  their  kindness,  but  the  at 
tentions  the  people  showed  me  were  almost  annoying,  and 
frequently  during  the  day  I  le*t  them,  and  repaired  to  one 
of  the  lonely  upper  rooms,  where  I  tried  to  sleep,  but  I 
eould  only  think  of  my  mother  lying  cold  and  dead ;  of 
326 


DEATH  IN   THE   HOUSE.  327 

Jo  in  his  lonely  home,  ai\d  of  the  mountain  of  snow  which 
seemed  to  be  covering  up  all  hope  of  happiness  for  any 
of  us. 

My  mother  lay  \n  the  front  room,  which  was  almost  a* 
cold  and  cheerless  ixs  the  outside,  for  when  the  watchers 
went  in  to  see  that  all  was  right,  which  they  did  by  turns, 
they  wore  heavy  coverings,  and  shuddered,  and  came  out 
again  as  soon  as  they  could.  A  wide  hall  ran  between 
that  room  and  the  one  in  which  I  sat,  and  straight  down 
the  hall  was  that  part  of  the  house  where  the  watchers 
dozed  by  turns,  and  talked  in  low  voices,  which  only 
came  to  me  when  the  doors  were  opened. 

As  the  night  wore  away  the  storm  increased  with  every 
hour,  and  feeling  that  my  mother  was  in  a  cheerless  and 
lonely  place,  I  got  up  and  opened  the  door  leading  into 
the  hall,  and  that  which  led  into  the  room  where  the  plain 
black  coffin  stood.  As  I  went  back  I  noticed  that  heavy 
blankets  had  been  thrown  at  the  foot  of  the  front  door,  to 
keep  out  the  drifting  snow  and  keen  winds,  but  in  spite 
of  them  the  snow  had  crept  in,  and  was  lying  about  ID 
little  drifts,  which  impressed  me  more  than  ever  with  the 
severity  of  the  storm  on  the  outside.  Going  into  the  room 
where  the  watchers  were,  I  found  them  all  asleep,  though 
they  wakened  with  an  apology  as  I  opened  the  door. 

Knowing  that  they  were  all  tired  and  worn  out,  I  told 
them  to  sleep  if  they  could,  and  that  I  would  watch  until 
midnight,  when  I  would  call  them  if  I  tired  of  the  under 
taking.  Going  back  to  my  own  room  —  the  one  in  which 
my  mother  had  sat,  and  where  the  light  was  always  kept 
burning  —  I  stirred  the  fire  and  sat  down  again.  I  glanced 
up  at  the  clock  to  see  what  the  hour  was,  but  the  pendu 
lum  was  still,  and  then  I  remembered  that  it  had  been 
stopped  when  my  mother  died,  for  the  first  time  within 
my  recollection. 


328  THE  STORY   OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

I  must  have  fallen  into  a  light  sleep,  and  slept  fo< 
gome  time,  for,  when  1  started  up,  the  fire  was  low 
although  I  had  left  it  burning  brightly.  Something,  1 
could  not  tell  what,  had  disturbed  me,  and  I  hastened  into 
the  other  room  to  see  that  all  was  well.  Everything  re- 
mained  as  I  had  left  it,  and  coming  back  I  sat  down  to 
listen  for  the  noise  again.  After  listening  for  a  time, 
without  really  expecting  to  hear  anything,  I  was  startled 
by  a  timid  rapping  at  the  front  door.  It  frightened  me 
so  that  I  thought  of  calling  the  watchers,  but  finally  de 
termined  to  open  the  door  myself,  thinking  it  might  be 
aome  of  those  who  had  been  sent  for.  Going  out  and 
opening  the  door  a  little  way,  I  saw  that  a  strange  man, 
wrapped  up  in  mufflers  and  furs,  was  standing  at  the  gate, 
as  if  he  had  despaired  of  an  answer  to  his  knock  and  was 
going  away.  After  a  moment  of  hesitation,  he  walked  to 
wards  me,  and  I  was  almost  tempted  to  shut  and  lock  the 
door  in  his  face,  for  I  did  not  know  him.  He  seemed  to 
recognize  me,  however,  for  he  walked  into  the  house,  and, 
passing  me,  sat  down  at  the  fire  I  had  left,  where  he  shivered 
and  trembled  so  much  that  I  thought  he  must  be  a  belated 
traveller  attracted  by  the  friendly  light,  which  was,  per 
haps  the  only  one  in  the  town. 

As  I  stepped  behind  him  to  stir  the  fire,  and  looked  at 
him  curiously,  I  became  aware  that  it  was  my  father.  Hia 
beard  was  gray,  and  his  face  wrapped  for  walking  in  the 
storm,  but  I  knew  him.  The  wanderer  had  returned  at 
'ast,  but  too  late !  He  continued  to  shiver  and  tremble, 
the  result  of  agitation  and  the  extreme  cold  through  which 
^e  had  come,  and  sat  for  a  long  time  trying  to  warm  him 
self,  while  I  walked  up  and  down  the  room  IE  nervous 
agitation. 

After  stirring  the  fire,  I  closed  the  door  leading  into 
U«e  hall,  and  stocd  by  his  side,  and  when  he  removed  th« 


THE  WANDERER'S  RETURN.      829 

trappings  from  his  neck  and  face,  and  looked  curiously 
about,  I  saw  that  he  was  poorly  clad,  and  that  he  was  old 
and  broken.  He  was  timid  in  his  manner,  and  looked  at 
me  as  though  he  expected  I  would  denounce  him,  and 
drive  him  out  of  the  house,  and  when  he  moved,  it  was 
with  difficulty,  from  which  I  thought  he  had  walked  a 
long  distance.  His  shoes  were  wrapped  in  coarse  bag 
ging,  which  was  tied  to  his  feet  with  cords,  and  when  ho 
held  out  his  hands  to  warm  them,  I  saw  that  they  were 
bruised  and  cracked,  and  I  was  sure  he  had  been  working 
as  a  laborer  during  his  long  absence. 

"  It  is  after  midnight,"  he  said  at  length,  in  a  hesitating 
voice,  as  though  he  were  afraid  to  speak.  "Why  are 
you  here  alone  ?  " 

Then  he  did  not  know!  He  had  come  back,  as  my 
mother  always  thought  he  would,  at  night,  repentant  and 
old,  to  ask  forgiveness,  but  the  one  who  could  forgive 
him  was  dead.  I  did  not  know  what  to  say  or  do,  and 
walked  up  and  down  the  room  thinking  how  to  answer. 
He  followed  my  movements  curiously  for  a  time,  and 
then  suddenly  cowered  down  into  his  chair  again,  as  if  to 
meditate  over  one  of  the  old  problems.  While  I  was 
wondering  how  to  break  the  news  to  him,  he  turned 
toward  me,  and  said :  — 

"  I  saw  the  lights  in  the  front  room  as  I  came  up,  but 
Doped  it  was  a  sign  of  welcome  rather  than  of  death  ;  but 
I  know  now  why  you  are  alone.  You  need  not  explain." 

The  tears  came  into  his  eyes,  but  he  tried  to  brush 
t_iem  away  with  his  rough  sleeve,  as  though  he  were  a 
child  and  had  been  warned  not  to  cry.  I  think  he  real- 
ized  in  a  moment,  while  wondering  why  I  was  so  much 
agitated,  that  she  was  dead,  though  he  had  cheerfully 
imagined,  when  approaching  the  house,  thfit  the  lowei 
rooms  were  lit  up  on  purpose  to  receive  hint, 


B30  THE  STOBY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

"She  died  this  morning  just  after  midnight,"  I  said  ta 
him,  coming  over  to  his  side,  and  placing  my  hand  on  his 
ihoulder,  "but  I  know  she  always  believed  you  would 
come  back.  She  sat  in  this  room  every  night  waiting, 
and  her  last  words  were  a  blessing  on  your  name." 

He  did  not  look  up,  but  I  thought  this  assurance 
cheered  him,  though  he  remained  motionless  so  long  that 
I  think  he  must  have  reviewed  his  entire  life,  from  his 
boyhood  in  the  backwoods  to  his  manhood  on  the  prairie, 
where  the  forbidden  processions  were  always  passing,  and 
from  his  career  in  Twin  Mounds  through  all  his  hard 
wanderings  as  an  outcast;  a  long  record  of  discontent, 
aorrow,  and  disgrace,  with  nothing  to  excuse  it  save  the 
natural  unrest  with  which  his  life  had  been  beset  like  a 
hell.  Inexplicable  and  monstrous  as  it  was,  I  knew  it 
was  real,  and  that  a  devil  had  possession  of  him  for  whose 
acts  he  was  unjustly  held  accountable.  A  hundred  times 
since  then  I  have  thought  of  John  Westlock  as  a  worthy 
man  driven  by  a  fiend  with  whip  and  lash,  always  sullenly 
protesting,  but  never  able  to  resist  the  evil  which  was 
bred  against  his  nature,  and  against  which  he  had  strug 
gled  all  his  life. 

I  tried  to  decide  in  my  own  mind,  as  he  was  thinking, 
whether  I  knew  him  any  better,  and  whether  I  was  less 
afraid  of  him  now  than  the  day  he  went  away,  but  J 
could  not  help  concluding  that  he  was  the  same  myste 
rious  man  he  had  always  been. 

"  If  you  will  let  me,  I  should  like  to  look  at  her,"  he 
said,  when  he  looked  up  again,  in  the  voice  of  a  suppliant 
asking  a  favor  of  a  nard  master,  and  so  unlike  him  that  I 
ihuddered  to  think  of  the  sorrow  necessary  to  make  such 
li  change  in  a  man  of  his  disposition. 

I  was  very  anxious  that  the  watchers  should  not  set 
kira;  I  don't  know  why,  because  his  arrival  and  presenci 


TARDY  REPENTANCE.  831 

would  certainly  be  known  in  all  the  town  in  the  earlv 
morning,  but  I  knew  they  would  only  look  upon  him  with 
inward  reproaches.  From  this  I  was  anxious  to  shield 
him,  and,  carefully  going  to  their  door,  I  found  they  slept. 
I  then  went  into  the  room  where  the  coffin  was,  to  re 
move  the  lid,  which  had  been  shut  down,  from  the  face. 
I  was  thankful  that  the  face  wore  a  pleasanter  smile  than 
I  had  ever  seen  it  wear  in  life,  and,  placing  the  light  where 
it  fell  directly  upon  it,  I  returned  to  where  he  sat,  and 
motioned  him  to  follow.  He  got  up  from  his  chair  with 
difficulty,  and,  staggering  after  me,  hesitated  before  enter 
ing  the  room,  but  at  last  he  followed  me  in  timidly,  and 
after  looking  at  the  face  for  a  moment,  fell  on  his  knees 
before  the  coffin,  and  sobbed  aloud.  His  grief  was  so 
great  that  I  feared  the  watchers  would  hear  him,  and 
waken,  but,  determined  that  he  should  be  left  alone  with 
the  dead,  I  stood  at  the  door  to  keep  them  back  should 
they  attempt  to  come  out.  But  they  slept  on,  and  when 
I  went  into  the  room  again,  he  was  still  on  his  knees,  his 
hands  covering  his  face  as  it  rested  on  the  coffin,  and  I 
thought  he  was  praying.  I  had  often  bitterly  denounced 
him  in  my  own  mind  for  the  unhappiness  he  had  brought 
upon  our  house,  and  for  the  misfortunes  he  had  founded, 
but  I  forgave  him  from  my  heart  as  I  saw  his  gray  head 
bowed  in  repentance  over  the  dead  body  of  the  principal 
sufferer ;  nor  did  I  regard  it  as  a  kindness  to  him,  but  as 
an  act  of  justice  to  an  unfortunate  man.  I  accepted  his 
misery  as  his  excuse,  and  forgave  him,  as  I  hope  that  I 
shall  be  forgiven. 

When  he  was  aroused  by  my  touch  on  his  shoulder,  I 
&d  him  gently  away,  and  we  returned  to  the  room  we 
had  left.  Here  he  hugged  the  fire  again,  as  if  he  were 
itill  celd,  and  sat  with  out -speaking  so  long  that  I  thougbl 
he  ?i  as  drying  to  solve  the  hardest  problem  of  his  life* 


832  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

"It  was  I  who  made  the  mistake,"  he  said  finally, 
without  changing  his  position,  and  as  though  we  had  been 
Baying  that  some  one  had  made  a  mistake.  "She  was 
always  patient,  but  I  was  dissatisfied  and  restless.  I 
thought  that  if  1  were  married  to  a  flashy,  ambitious 
woman,  nothing  would  be  impossible ;  but  I  know  now 
that  her  quiet  patience  and  content  were  rare  jewels 
which  I  spurned  and  neglected.  I  confess  to  you  now 
that  I  was  wrong,  and  that  she  was  right." 

He  seemed  never  to  have  confessed  this  to  himself  be 
fore,  and  repeated  it,  so  there  could  be  no  mistake. 

"  I  thought  I  was  more  a  man  than  I  really  was,  and 
that  there  was  nothing  I  could  not  do,  but  I  have  found  " 
—  he  looked  at  his  rough  clothes  as  if  I  could  judge  by 
them  that  he  had  had  a  hard  struggle  in  finding  it  out  — 
"  I  have  found  that  I  could  not  rid  my  mind  of  unrest  for 
committing  a  wrong.  During  all  the  years  I  have  been 
away  I  have  carried  a  heavy  cross,  and  worn  a  crown  of 
thorns  on  my  forehead,  in  repentance,  but  since  she  is 
dead,  and  I  cannot  ask  her  to  forgive  me,  I  must  continue 
to  travel  the  long  road,  and  carry  my  burden.  She  could 
have  lightened  it,  but  she  is  dead,  and  I  must  carry  it  on 
and  on  until  I  fall  exhausted  into  my  dishonored  grave." 

I  could  not  help  thinking  he  would  not  be  long  com 
pelled  to  carry  his  heavy  cross,  for  now  that  the  hope 
of  finding  his  wife  alive  had  left  him,  he  was  weak  and 
trembling. 

"  Had  I  found  her  alive  and  well  to-night,"  he  contin- 
uued,  "  and  waiting  to  forgive  me,  I  might  have  consented 
to  remain  here,  and  hide  away  where  no  one  except  my 
injured  wife  and  son  could  see  me,  but  as  it  is  now,  I  will 
go  out  into  the  world  again,  before  it  is  known  that  I 
-eturned  at  all,  so  that  the  charitable  may  think  of  me  at 
toad  " 


CONFESSION.  888 

1  realized  in  a  moment,  without  having  had  a  thought  of  it 
before,  that  he  would  go  away  again,  and  hide  from  his 
accusers  in  Twin  Mounds,  but  before  I  could  protest  he 
went  on  speaking,  as  if  in  a  hurry  to  finish  :  — 

"  Of  my  history  since  I  went  away  it  is  only  necessary 
for  you  to  know  that  I  lived  alone  after  the  first  three 
months,  and  worked  hard  that  I  might  forget,  but  I  could 
uot,  and  within  the  last  few  years  I  have  been  travelling 
tnis  way  a  little  distance  every  month,  and  I  only  com 
pleted  my  long  journey  to-night.  Of  my  companion  — 
she  is  no  longer  my  companion,  nor  has  she  been  for  years 
—  I  will  only  say  she  is  as  unhappy  as  I  am.  We  sepa 
rated  within  three  months,  and  the  first  oath  that  ever 
passed  my  lips  was  a  curse  for  her.  We  hated  each  other 
within  a  week,  each  blaming  the  other  for  the  mistake, 
and  I  know  no  more  of  her  now  than  she  knows  of  me." 

A  suggestion  of  his  old  spirit  returned  while  he  was 
talking  of  B.,  and  there  was  the  old  scowl  upon  his  face, 
but  it  disappeared  when  he  mentioned  my  mother  again. 

"  Before  I  go  I  want  to  say  that  I  was  wrong ;  that  I 
am  repentant,  and  that  my  last  breath  will  be  spent  in 
supplicating  mercy  for  my  crime  against  your  mother.  I 
was  always  a  man  of  few  words,  and  my  heart  was  always 
stubborn,  and  I  cannot  make  more  of  a  confession  than 
this.  She  was  a  good  woman,  and  I  was  a  bad  man,  and 
while  she  was  brave  and  noble,  and  always  true,  I  was 
everything  I  should  not  have  been." 

I  could  make  no  reply,  though  he  looked  at  me  as  if  ex 
pecting  one. 

" It  may  be  of  profit  to  you,  who  are  young,  to  know 
that  I  have  been  punished  for  my  offence.  If  I  have  had 
a  moment's  peace  since  I  went  away ;  if  I  have  had  an 
hour's  sound  and  refreshing  sleep ;  if  I  have  not  been  in 
hell  all  the  while,  may  God  strike  me  clea4 :  Pay  and 


384  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

night,  night  and  day,  always,  everywhere,  my  crime 
has  taken  the  shape  of  a  demon,  and  taunted  me ;  I  have 
Dot  looked  into  a  book  that  I  did  not  find  accusing  words 
staring  at  me ;  I  have  not  heard  a  sound  which  did  not 
mock  me,  and  wherever  I  have  gone  I  have  heard  the  peo 
ple  telling  what  should  be  done  with  a  man  who  ran  away 
from  his  wife.  If  I  avoided  them  they  hunted  me  up,  and 
told  of  a  patient  wife  who  was  mourning  for  her  runaway 
husband ;  God,  the  world  seems  to  be  full  of  such  cases ! 
However  secretly  I  moved  from  place  to  place  I  met  peo 
ple  who  seemed  to  say :  c  There  he  goes ;  there  he  goes ; 
a  man  who  has  run  away  from  his  wife.  Hate  him ;  beat 
him ;  he  is  a  coward ;  he  is  dangerous.'  If  I  went  into  a 
church,  the  minister  seemed  to  point  at  me  and  say :  4  Put 
that  man  out ;  he  has  disgraced  us.  Put  him  out,  I  say, 
and  hurry  him  from  this  honorable  neighborhood.  lie  is 
the  man  who  has  brought  reproach  on  the  church  ;  put  him 
out ;  put  him  out.'  If  I  slept  out  in  the  fields  to  avoid 
them,  the  wind  always  blew  from  the  direction  of  Twin 
Mounds,  and  there  were  moans  in  it  which  came  from  this 
house.  The  very  cattle  ran  away  from  me,  as  if  to  say: 
4 He  has  been  unjust  to  a  woman;  he  will  probably  kill 
us ;  get  up  there,  all  of  you,  and  run  for  your  lives.  This 
is  the  life  I  have  led,  and  which  I  have  deserved.  It  is 
the  price  of  discontent ;  if  you  have  a  trace  of  it  in  your 
nature,  root  it  out !  Be  contented,  though  it  kills  you ! '" 

He  said  this  in  great  excitement,  and,  getting  up,  began 
slowly  to  wrap  the  comforter  about  his  neck,  and  knowing 
his  determined  nature  I  felt  that  it  would  be  impossible 
for  me  to  persuade  him  to  stay.  Never  in  my  life  had  1 
offered  him  a  suggestion,  and  even  in  his  present  brokeu 
condition  I  was  afraid  of  him. 

"You  probably  remember,"  he  said,  pausing  in  the  pio. 
eess  of  wrapping  himself  up, "  that  every  year  since  I  havf 


FATIIEU  AND  SON.  835 

been  away  u  stranger  has  sent  you  money  for  your  paper; 
first  from  one  place  and  then  from  another.  That  stranger 
was  your  father,  so  that  I  know  what  a  good  son  yon  have 
been,  and  how  hard  you  have  worked  to  support  your 
mother,  who  was  so  cruelly  neglected  by  me.  I  am  satis 
fied  that  you  have  conducted  my  affairs  with  good  judg 
ment,  and  that  I  have  been  missed  but  little." 

He  got  up  at  this  and  began  to  button  his  great-coa4 
about  him,  and  to  wrap  his  scarf  around  his  neck  an<l 
head. 

"  Whether  it  is  your  judgment  that  I  should  or  should 
not,  I  am  going  away  again,  and  will  never  come  back. 
I  am  not  wanted  here,  though  I  see  you  would  insist  on 
my  staying,  but  it  is  useless.  I  have  made  up  my  mind." 

I  had  stepped  before  him,  but  he  pushed  me  aside,  and 
walked  toward  the  door. 

"  Listen  to  me  a  moment,"  I  said,  taking  hold  of  him, 
"You  are  poor  and  old;  I  am  young,  and  have  ready 
money.  If  you  will  not  remain  here,  as  Heaven  knows  I 
desire  you  should,  take  it  with  you.  I  have  no  oxie  to  care 
for  now,  and  you  need  it.  I  will  ask  it  on  my  knees  if  it 
will  move  you.  It  is  all  yours,  and  I  shall  feel  guilty  au 
ny  life  if  you  refuse  this  request,  fearing  you  are  poor  and 
in  need  of  it." 

"  Rather  than  that,"  he  answered,  "  I  would  live  again 
in  this  town,  where  every  man  is  my  enemy  and  accuser. 
No,  I  will  take  none  of  the  money ;  my  needs  are  few  and 
easily  satisfied.  But  if  you  will  grant  me  your  forgive 
ness  "  —  there  was  more  tenderness  in  his  voice  as  he  said 
it  than  I  had  ever  heard  before  —  "I  will  take  that." 

I  answered  that  he  had  suffered  enough,  and  that  I  had 
already  forgiven  him ;  that  we  all  had,  and  that  we  had 
ong  been  sure  tli  at  he  had  repented  of  his  one  fault. 

<*  There  are  but  few  of  us  who  have  to  answer  for  but 


836  THE  STORY  OF   A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

one  fault,"  I  said.     "  I  know  nothing  to  your  discredit  ex. 
cept  this  one  mistake." 

He  stood  by  this  time  near  the  door,  with  his  hand  on 
the  latch,  and,  simply  saying  good-by,  he  opened  it,  and 
went  out  into  the  storm. 

Determined  to  make  one  more  effort  to  induce  him  to 
remain  at  home,  I  ran  bareheaded  into  the  street  after 
him,  floundering  in  the  snow  almost  waist  deep  as  I  went, 
but  he  was  already  a  considerable  distance  ahead  of  me, 
walking  with  long  strides,  and  looking  straight  ahead. 
The  louder  I  called  to  him  the  faster  he  walked,  and  after 
following  him  almost  to  where  the  stores  and  the 
began,  he  turned  the  corner,  and  disappeared  fo/ever. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE  SKELETON  AGAIN. 

A  LTHOUGH  Jo  came  to  Twin  Mounds  the  day  aftei 
-£-»-  my  mother's  burial,  and  a  few  times  during  the  win« 
ter,  I  did  not  visit  him  for  several  months,  for  I  dreaded 
to  go  into  his  house  and  find  him  alone  in  it.  I  hoped 
^hat  Mateel  would  come  back,  and  that  their  separation 
would  cause  them  to  be  happier  than  they  had  been,  but 
as  Jo  ceased  his  visits  to  town  because  I  did  not  return 
them,  at  last  I  could  do  nothing  else. 

Another  sorrow  had  been  lately  added  to  his  life ;  the 
messenger  who  had  been  sent  into  the  lower  country  to 
inform  Gran  Erring  of  her  daughter's  death  returned  a 
few  days  later  with  the  information  that  my  grandmother 
and  grandfather  were  both  dead.  We  had  been  so  taken  up 
with  our  own  affairs  of  late  that  we  had  scarcely  thought 
of  them,  as  often  we  did  not  hear  for  a  year  at  a  time  how 
they  fared ;  and  Jo  felt  that  he  had  neglected  them,  al 
though  he  knew  they  were  never  in  need,  for  regularly 
every  quarter  he  sent  them  an  amount  of  money  amply 
sufficient  for  their  small  necessities,  which  was  partly  in 
payment  for  the  mill  site,  and  according  to  agreement, 
though  he  had  long  since  paid  more  than  the  place  was 
worth.  My  grandfather  had  a  relative  in  the  lower  coun 
try,  —  whether  it  wag  a  brother,  a  sister,  or  an  uncle,  I 
never  knew,  nor  do  I  know  yet,  our  family  relations  were 
Always  so  miserable, —  and  this  relative,  having  probably 
heard  of  our  other  distresses,  never  notified  us  of  his  death, 

837 


THE  STORY    OF  A    COUNTRY  TOWN. 

w  that  of  his  wife,  which  occurred  a  few  months  later.  It 
was  very  disgraceful,  and  I  felt  almost  as  much  humiliat 
tion  over  it  as  Jo. 

The  house  and  mill  looked  so  gray  when  I  came  in 
rght  of  them  that  they  reminded  me  of  ghosts,  although 
it  was  more  from  neglect  than  age,  for  neither  of  them 
was  old,  anu  there  was  a  general  air  of  decay  everywhere 
which  said  plainly  enough  that  something  was  wrong. 
The  traveller  who  passed  that  way  would  have  remarked 
it ;  he  could  not  have  known  what  it  was,  but  he  would 
have  felt  certain  that  a  disappointed  man  lived  in  the 
house  and  carried  on  business  in  the  mill.  I  have  thought 
that  the  trees  shading  the  mill  pond  drooped  their  heads 
in  mortification  at  the  history  of  the  place,  and  certainly 
the  water  was  quiet  and  subdued,  like  the  master,  except 
when  it  dashed  into  the  race  and  after  a  furious  onslaught 
on  its  old  enemy,  the  wheel,  fell  exhausted  into  the  peace 
ful  river  below. 

I  came  upon  the  place  late  in  the  afternoon,  at  least 
half  a  year  after  Mateel  went  away,  and  seeing  customers 
about  the  mill  I  went  down  there  to  find  the  proprietor, 
but  the  assistant  was  working  alone,  and  said  that  Jo  was 
probably  up  at  the  house.  Going  in  there  and  failing  to 
find  him  in  the  lower  rooms,  I  went  up  the  stairs,  where 
I  found  him  asleep  in  his  room,  but  the  noise  of  my  foot 
steps  awakened  him.  As  he  shook  hands  with  me  I  could 
not  help  thinking  of  the  skeleton  that  kept  him  awake  at 
night,  making  it  necessary  for  him  to  sleep  during  the 
day,  for  he  was  pale  and  haggard,  and  I  am  not  certain 
but  that  I  looked  around  for  the  closet  in  which  it  wag 
kept. 

The  house  was  a  very  large  one,  and  while  he  bathed 
bis  face  after  his  long  sleep,  I  walked  through  the  roomi, 
which  seemed  so  empty  that  the  noise  of  my  feet  made 


A  LONELY  MAN.  8S9 

echoes  a&  though  a  troop  were  following  me.  When  1 
went  into  Mateel's  room,  where  I  had  left  Jo  sobbing  on 
the  bed  on  the  dreadful  night  when  his  wife  went  a^  ay,  I 
found  it  ready  for  her  reception,  as  though  she  were  ex 
pected  to  arrive  at  any  time.  The  woman  who  kept  the 
Louse,  and  who  lived  so  near  that  she  went  home  every 
night,  had  thrown  all  her  woman's  ingenuity  into  making 
the  room  tasteful  and  pretty,  as  a  compliment  to  her 
wretched  employer,  and  it  was  aired  and  dusted  as  regu. 
laiiy  as  though  it  had  been  regularly  occupied.  All  the 
articles  of  ornament  and  comfort  prepared  by  Mateel 
while  she  had  lived  there  were  in  their  accustomed 
places,  and  her  picture,  which  had  been  taken  shortly 
after  her  marriage,  had  been  made  gay  by  the  kind- 
hearted  housekeeper  in  a  pretty  frame  for  the  pleasure 
of  the  master,  should  he  ever  come  in  to  look  at  it.  There 
were  seven  or  eight  rooms  besides  this  one,  and  I  thought 
that  a  man  in  the  best  of  spirits  would  have  been  lonely 
to  stay  there  without  companions. 

When  Jo  joined  me  in  the  hall  we  went  down  stairs  to 
supper,  and  after  seeing  that  everything  was  at  hand,  the 
housekeeper  left  for  home  to  prepare  her  husband's  sup 
per,  leaving  us  alone.  On  looking  about  I  saw  that  Jo 
had  been  adding  articles  of  furniture  during  his  wife's 
absence,  as  if  to  surprise  and  please  her  when  she  should 
finally  return ;  and  I  have  no  doubt  he  was  always  expect 
ing  she  would  come  back  to-morrow,  that  fateful  day 
*  hich  never  arrives,  though  all  of  us  expect  so  much  of 
it.  I  think  he  believed  every  time  he  went  to  sleep  that 
he  awakened  she  would  be  standing  by  his  side, 
from  the  miller  and  the  housekeeper  I  learned  that 
be  turned  quickly  at  every  noise,  expecting  that  it  was 
die  step  of  his  returning  wife.  He  never  told  me,  bat  I 
believe  that  had  she  come  back  and  said  that  she 


640  THB  STORY   OF  A  COUNTR1   TOWN. 

not  live  without  him  they  would  have  been  much  hap 
pier  than  they  were  before,  and  perhaps  finished  theif 
lives  in  peace  together.  His  life  alone  in  the  great  house 
must  have  been  a  greater  sorrow  than  his  letter  and  the 
skeleton,  and  I  think  he  would  have  consented  to  forget 
a  great  deal  to  avoid  it. 

He  only  mentioned  his  horror  of  the  empty  house  at 
night  in  general  terms,  but  I  have  always  been  convinced 
that  his  greatest  trial  was  his  loneliness,  and  that  he 
would  have  closed  the  place  and  left  it  but  for  the  hope 
that  Mateel  would  surely  come  to-morrow;  not  as  a 
humble  suppliant,  but  as  his  wife,  with  a  request  that  she 
be  allowed  to  occupy  her  old  place  in  the  house,  if  not  in 
his  heart.  Had  Mateel  opened  the  right  door  to  his 
heart  she  would  have  found  such  a  wealth  of  love  and 
consideration  there  that  she  would  never  have  ceased 
trying  to  reclaim  it,  for  his  love  for  her  was  so  great  that 
he  could  not  have  resisted  the  smallest  effort.  I  do  not 
remember  that  I  thought  this  until  I  went  to  his  house  a 
half  year  after  the  separation,  but  I  firmly  believed  it 
then,  and  I  believe  it  yet.  Perhaps  I  shall  be  better 
understood  if  I  explain  that  while  Jo  was  frequently  at 
fault  before  the  separation,  six  months  of  loneliness  had 
wrought  a  great  change  in  him,  and  he  was  willing  to 
admit  that  his  estimate  of  women  was  too  high  ;  that  they 
were  weak  like  himself,  and  that  he  was  to  blame  for  hav 
ing  made  a  serious  matter  of  love.  In  the  early  days  of 
bis  acquaintance  with  Mateel  he  had  worshipped  her  as 
an  angel  rather  than  admired  her  as  a  woman,  but  he  was 
now  ready  to  give  up  his  idol,  and  forgive  her  faults  as 
she  forgave  his.  He  had  regarded  his  marriage  as  a 
piece  of  unusual  good  fortune,  whereby  he  secured  a  per 
fect  being  who  would  bring  him  only  happiness  in  her 
(rain,  but  the  experience  of  a  few  years  had  taught  hiw 


THE  SKELETON  AGAIN.  841 

I  hat  it  ^fts  only  a  ceremony  pledging  two  persons  to 
charity  for  the  failings  of  each  other. 

Many  times  after  that  I  got  up  from  my  bed  at  night, 
after  thinking  about  it,  determined  to  go  to  Mated,  and 
tell  her  of  my  conviction,  but  upon  consideration  would 
conclude  that  she  must  know  it,  and  that  she  did  not 
desire  a  reconciliation.  Although  there  was  always  an 
unspoken  hope  that  such  was  not  the  case,  Jo  probably 
took  this  view  of  it  —  that  she  preferred  to  live  without 
him.  Perhaps  I  had  better  say  that  he  did  not  ask  her  to 
come  back  for  fear  of  the  humiliating  reply  that  she  did 
not  care  to  come,  for  he  was  always  in  doubt  with  refer 
ence  to  her. 

When  there  was  occasion  Jo  ran  the  mill  at  night,  pre 
ferring  to  be  there  at  work  than  alone  in  the  house,  and 
he  was  seldom  in  the  mill  at  any  other  time,  trusting  his 
business  almost  entirely  to  his  assistant,  who,  fortunately, 
was  capable  of  managing  it  with  Jo's  advice.  He  told 
me  after  we  had  finished  an  early  supper  that  he  was  to 
take  charge  at  seven  o'clock,  and  when  that  hour  arrived 
we  went  down  there  and  were  soon  alone.  There  was 
little  to  do,  except  to  see  that  everything  was  running 
smoothly,  and  by  the  time  Jo  had  made  a  general  inspec 
tion  it  was  dark,  and  we  were  seated  in  the  largest  room 
without  a  light,  with  nothing  to  disturb  us  except  the  sub 
dued  hum  of  the  machinery,  and  the  gentle  fall  of  the 
water. 

"  It  is  out  of  the  friendliest  curiosity  that  I  ask,  Jo,"  I 
aaid  to  him  in  the  course  of  the  evening,  "  but  have  you 
heard  nothing  from  Mateel  since  she  went  away  ?  " 

"  Not  a  word,"  he  replied  with  a  long  sigh.  "  I  have 
not  even  seen  any  one  who  has  spoken  to  her,  unless  it  is 
Bragg,  who  passes  here  regularly  every  day,  going  to  the 
Shepherds',  and  returning  noisily  at  night.  During  the 


842  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

six  months  she  has  been  away,  I  have  not  even  seen  hei 
father,  who  formerly  came  to  the  mill  quite  frequently.  I 
have  about  concluded  that  she  is  glad  of  the  opportunity 
to  be  rid  of  me.  I  have  always  thought  that  she  married 
me  as  a  penance,  and  that  she  was  determined  to  be  an  excel- 
lent  wife  in  every  way  except  that  she  could  not  love  me. 
I  think  that  sometimes  she  pitied  my  friendless  condition, 
and  was  kind  to  me  for  that  reason,  for  she  was  always 
that." 

"  But  why  do  you  not  go  to  her,"  I  asked,  "  and  settle 
these  doubts?" 

"  She  went  away,"  he  replied,  after  thinking  awhile, 
"  without  cause,  and  if  she  cared  to  prevent  a  separation, 
she  would  come  back.  It  was  an  insult  to  me  to  allow 
that  fellow  to  come  into  my  house,  and  I  only  expected 
that  she  would  tell  him  so.  I  did  not  doubt  her  womanly 
integrity,  as  she  said ;  I  only  felt  she  wronged  me  in  per 
mitting  him  to  annoy  me.  It  would  have  been  an  easy 
thing  for  her  to  have  said  to  him  that  his  presence  there 
was  presumptuous  and  annoying  to  me,  but  instead  she 
invited  him  in,  and  I  suppose  treated  him  civilly.  I  know  she 
did  this  entirely  out  of  considerations  of  politeness,  but  I  re 
gret  that  she  did  not  have  more  consideration  for  me.  I  did 
wrong  to  run  into  the  house  with  the  intention  of  murdering 
him ;  I  know  I  should  have  greeted  him  pleasantly,  and 
made  him  believe  that  I  cared  nothing  for  him,  but  he 
had  pursued  me  so  long,  and  with  so  little  reason,  that  his 
impudence  caused  me  to  lose  all  control.  When  she  went 
away  with  him  I  took  an  oath  that  I  would  never  think  of 
her  again ;  that  should  she  come  back  to  me  on  ner  knees, 
I  would  curse  her,  but  I  am  so  lonely  that  I  should  almost 
welcome  her  if  she  came  to  taunt  me.  I  have  not  closed 
my  eyes  in  natural  sleep  since  she  went  away,  and  with 
the  dark  ness  come  troops  of  faces  to  peer  at  me  through 


AFFECTION    VEBSUS  DlbTKUST.  843 

the  night.  However  bright  I  make  the  house,  there  are 
always  dark  corners,  and  the  phantoms  hide  in  them  to 
attack  me  when  the  light  is  out.  If  I  wonder  whether 
she  be  gay  or  sad,  I  always  conclude  —  I  can't  tell  why  — - 
that  she  is  quite  content,  and  in  the  roar  of  the  water  I 
can  hear  her  gay  laughter ;  not  as  I  ever  heard  her,  but 
as  Bragg  heard  her  laugh  when  she  was  his  young 
and  pretty  lover.  In  the  rumbling  of  the  wheels  down 
below,  when  I  sit  here  alone  at  night,  I  can  distinguish 
the  voices  of  them  all ;  even  Bragg  is  good  humored,  and 
Mrs.  Shepherd,  her  husband,  and  Mateel  seem  to  be 
mocking  me  with  their  merriment.  Of  course  it  is  all 
fancy,  but  it  is  so  real  to  me  that  I  listen  to  it  breath 
lessly,  and  sometimes  it  annoys  me  so  much  that  I  stop 
the  wheels." 

He  had  formerly  talked  of  the  matter  in  a  resentful  tone, 
but  it  was  sorrowful  now,  as  if  he  were  convinced  that  he 
gave  himself  a  credit  he  did  not  deserve  when  he  thought 
she  worried  because  he  was  unhappy. 

"Frequently  when  there  is  nothing  to  occupy  my  at- 
tention  all  night,"  Jo  said  later  in  the  evening,  "  I  walk 
through  the  woods,  and  steal  up  to  her  father's  house,  and 
remain  under  her  window  until  the  approach  of  day 
warns  me  to  depart.  I  cannot  say  that  I  expect  it,  but  I 
always  hope  that  she  will  divine  my  presence,  and  speak 
to  me,  but  the  house  is  always  dark,  though  I  have  heard 
them  walking  on  the  inside." 

His  habit  of  being  startled  at  every  noise,  and  ner 
vously  looking  about,  was  growing  upon  him,  for  when 
iorne  one  appeared  at  the  door,  he  went  hastily  into 
another  part  of  the  mill,  to  avoid  him.  It  was  only  the 
miller  come  after  something  he  had  forgotten  during  the 
day,  but  Jo  would  not  come  back  until  after  he  had  gone, 
Hot  caring  to  see  even  him.  In  contrasting  hig  present 


844  THE  STORY  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

condition  with  his  former  manliness,  I  thought  his  sufteu 
ings  must  have  been  great  to  work  such  a  change. 

"  The  people  who  come  here,"  he  said,  in  explanation  of 
his  going  away,  "  look  at  me  as  though  I  were  a  curiosity, 
and  I  avoid  them.  Although  no  one  has  told  me  what  they 
say,  I  know  what  it  is,  and  I  do  not  care  to  meet  them, 
At  first  I  thought  not  to  mind  it,  but  among  them  all  I 
did  not  find  a  single  pitying  face ;  they  were  all  against  me, 
and  I  determined  to  run  from  them  and  get  out  of  their 
way.  I  see  no  one  now  except  you,  and  there  is  nothing 
I  dread  so  much  as  a  pair  of  curious  eyes,  and  a  head 
containing  a  brain  which  I  know  must  be  conjecturing 
and  wondering  with  reference  to  me." 

I  tried  to  laugh  away  this  notion,  although  I  knew  it 
was  well  founded,  but  he  paid  little  attention,  and  resumed 
what  he  was  saying  when  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of 
the  miller. 

"  When  I  light  my  lamp  at  night  there  are  insects  which 
«eem  to  have  a  fatal  fascination  for  the  flame,  and  hover 
around  it  until  they  are  wounded  or  killed.  I  am  a  good 
deal  like  them ;  I  cannot  give  up  Mateel,  who  is  the  cause 
of  all  my  unhappiness,  although  I  have  every  reason  to 
believe  that  she  does  not  even  care  for  me.  I  hover  about 
her  as  the  insects  hover  about  my  lamp,  and  sooner  or 
later  I  shall  fall  into  the  flame.  I  cannot  help  thinking 
now  that  she  never  kissed  me  voluntarily  in  her  life.  She 
has  kissed  me,  of  course,  but  it  was  only  because  she  had 
heard  that  good  wives  —  one  of  which  she  desired  to  be 
—  showed  that  mark  of  affection  for  their  husbands,  but 
it  was  mechanical,  as  was  every  other  kindness  she  ever 
showed  me.  I  was  not  a  hard  critic  when  we  were  first 
Married,  as  I  am  now,  and  I  noticed  it  then,  and  my 
honest  affection  was  frequently  wounded  because  it  waa 
necessary  for  me  to  do  all  the  loving.  I  am  not  certaii 


DEBT. 

that  you  understand  what  I  mean  ;  she  was  a  good  wife 
hi  every  way  except  that  it  was  an  effort  for  her  to  love 
me  ;  there  was  nothing  natural  about  it,  and  I  was  never 
satisfied." 

1  had  noticed  this  peculiarity  in  his  wife  many  times 
myself,  and  wondered  at  it ;  for  he  was  a  handsome  man, 
and  sensible  and  considerate,  and  I  was  surprised  that 
Mateel  was  not  very  fond  of  him,  as  I  was.  If  I  ever  ex 
plained  the  matter  to  my  own  mind  at  all  it  was  on  the 
theory  of  Mr.  Biggs,  that  the  two  people  in  a  community 
the  least  suited  to  each  other  always  got  together  ard 
married. 

"  When  we  were  first  married,"  he  continued,  "  I  was 
greatly  in  debt,  and  very  uncomfortable  in  consequence. 
I  could  not  sleep  at  night  for  worrying  about  it,  and  once 
I  told  Mateel.  She  seemed  very  much  concerned  for  a 
few  moments,  but  soon  forgot  it  entirely,  and  for  weeks 
afterwards  wondered  why  I  was  moody  and  silent.  I 
owed  everybody,  and  invented  hundreds  of  ways  to  avoid 
the  bills  when  they  were  due.  I  remember  once  I  wrote 
hi  a  disguised  hand  to  a  man  who  wanted  his  pay,  that 
Mr.  Erring  was  at  present  away  collecting  money,  but 
that  he  would  no  doubt  soon  return,  and  make  satisfac 
tory  settlement.  I  also  said  I  knew  Mr.  Erring  very  well, 
and  that  although  at  present  a  little  pushed,  he  was  an 
honest  man,  and  would  soon  be  all  right.  I  signed  "  Jo 
Erring  "  to  the  letter,  with  an  L  below  it,  intimating  that 
a  party  named  Leepson,  Lawson,  or  Liar  was  one  of  his 
numerous  clerks.  At  that  time  I  made  every  mistake  it 
was  possible  for  a  man  to  make ;  I  knew  absolutely  noth 
ing,  and  paid  the  highest  tuition  in  the  school  of  experi 
ence.  At  night,  although  she  knew  I  was  distressed  from 
lome  cause,  Mateel  would  lie  down  beside  me,  and  after 
inquiring  what  was  the  matter,  go  to  sleep  before  I  had 


846  THE  STO11Y  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

framed  my  answer.  It  was  very  absurd  in  me,  but  I  fre 
quently  flounced  around  to  waken  her,  that  she  might 
know  I  was  still  unable  to  sleep." 

This  was  so  ridiculous,  and  so  like  Jo,  that  I  was  realty 
amused,  though  apparently  he  could  not  see  why  I  should 
be,  for  he  looked  up  in  surprise  at  my  merriment. 

"  I  have  never  doubted  that  Mateel  was  constantly  try- 
ing  to  do  that  which  was  right,  but  her  nature  was  such 
that,  although  I  recognized  that  she  was  a  good  woman,  I 
was  never  contented.  Perhaps  this  was  wicked  in  me,  but 
I  always  did  the  best  I  could,  though  in  my  weakness  I 
was  very  often  wrong.  I  despair  of  being  able  to  explain 
to  any  one  exactly  what  I  mean,  and  probably  I  shall 
always  seem  to  have  been  a  ridiculous  and  unreasonable 
man,  though  I  can  fully  justify  myself  in  protesting 
against  a  life  without  hope.  I  only  regret  that  Mateel  is 
not  as  much  concerned  as  I  am,  for  then  there  would  be 
a  possibility  of  bridging  the  difficulty.  When  I  think  how 
careful  you  are  of  my  wishes,  and  how  easily  you  please 
me,  I  cannot  help  remembering  how  innocently  Mateel 
did  that  which  was  distasteful,  though  all  the  time  I  re 
alized  that  she  was  upright  and  honest,  and  a  better  woman 
than  I  was  a  man.  I  can  only  say  in  excuse  of  my  con 
duct  that  the  more  contemptible  I  became  in  all  other 
eyes  than  yours  and  my  own  —  I  believe  you  would  love 
me  even  though  I  should  commit  murder  —  the  more  I 
hoped  Mateel  would  realize  the  necessity  of  hunting  out 
a  remedy,  and  applying  it,  for  I  thought  I  would  rather 
die  than  live  as  wretchedly  as  I  did,  but  matters  have 
grown  steadily  worse,  and  instead  of  understanding  that 
whatever  I  did  was  prompted  by  love  for  her,  she  seeing 
to  believe  that  I  am  depraved  and  wicked.  She  had 
great  sympathy  for  everybody  and  everything  except  me, 
I  have  frequently  found  her  weeping  over  a  new* 


AN  UNREASONABLE  MAN.  347 

paper  §crap  when  I  was  so  much  in  need  of  her  sympathy 
that  I  almost  asked  it  on  my  knees.  She  was  alwayg 
thinking  of  the  unfortunate  birds,  the  unfortunate  people, 
or  worrying  over  distress  of  some  kind,  but  upon  my  Lonor 
phe  never  in  her  life,  of  her  own  motion,  had  any  t?ym 
pathy  for  my  affairs.  I  was  always  robust,  but  occasionally 
I  regretted  that  she  was  not  anxious  about  my  health.  I 
never  worked  too  hard,  but  I  regretted  she  did  not  think 
so,  and  remonstrate  with  me  in  such  a  way  as  to  prov*1 
that  she  had  an  interest  in  me.  Before  we  were  married 
and  when  I  was  building  the  mill,  I  worked  harder  than 
any  man  had  ever  before  worked  in  Fairview,  and  really 
became  quite  pale  and  wan,  but  she  never  mentioned  it, 
Although  I  was  glad  to  do  what  I  did  for  her,  it  would 
have  pleased  me  had  she  said  I  was  a  worthy  man  for  it, 
and  encouraged  me  a  little.  I  suppose  she  thought  every 
thing  came  to  me  naturally  and  easily,  but  it  did  not.  Or 
she  may  have  thought  that  much  that  I  did  for  her  was 
the  work  of  the  Lord.  What  makes  me  most  miserable 
of  all,  however,  is  the  certainty  that  she  possesses  all  the 
womanly  tenderness  I  feel  the  lack  of,  but  I  was  not  the 
man  to  bring  it  out.  It  was  the  misfortune  of  both  of 
us." 

I  thought  of  what  he  had  said  about  becoming  a  hard 
critic,  but  he  was  criticising  himself  rather  than  his  wiie, 
for  he  always  gave  me  the  impression  that  the  trouble 
was  his  own  failure  to  inspire  her  love  and  enthusiasm. 
I  regarded  this  as  an  admission  from  his  bleeding  heart 
that,  had  she  married  Clinton  Bragg,  there  would  have 
been  no  cause  for  complaint. 

"  I  often  set  about  to  make  Mateel  happy,  and  I  always 
accomplished  it,"  my  moody  companion  said  at  another 
time.  "I  could  tell  it  in  her  face,  and  in  her  pleasant 
lurprises,  but  although  she  has  always  said  that  she  had 


548  THE  STORY  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

ao  other  ambition  in  life  than  to  make  me  contented,  sh« 
never  succeeded  in  a  single  instance.  I  should  have  COD* 
tinued  this  devotion  to  her  happiness  all  my  life  had  she 
been  able  to  give  me  anything  in  return,  but  I  grew  tired 
of  always  being  considerate  of  others,  while  no  one  was 
sonsiderate  of  me.  I  hope  I  may  say  this  without  caus 
ing  a  suspicion  in  your  mind  that  I  was  contemptible,  for 
£  should  have  been  perfectly  content  had  she  anticipated 
my  wishes  as  you  do,  or  as  Agnes  did  for  both  of  us  when 
we  were  boys.  If  I  was  enthusiastic  over  my  small  suc 
cesses,  she  did  not  share  it  with  me,  and  made  me  feel 
silly  that  I  was  so  easily  moved;  everything  she  did 
(although  it  was  not  intended,  I  am  certain  of  that)  was 
an  accusation  that  she  was  the  right  woman,  though  I  waa 
the  wrong  man.  I  make  these  statements  more  in  explana 
tion  of  my  own  conduct,  which  seems  inexplicable,  than  to 
accuse  her,  for  every  one  must  be  saying  that  I  am  wrong. 

"  And  while  I  have  lacked  the  sympathy  of  my  wife,  I 
have  also  lacked  the  sympathy  of  the  people.  They  say  1 
am  too  prosperous,  although  I  have  simply  had  an  ambition 
to  be  an  honest  and  worthy  man  ;  others  might  have  been 
equally  prosperous  had  they  denied  themselves  and  worked 
as  hard  as  I  have  done.  Many  of  the  Fairview  men  are 
suspicious  of  those  who  use  punctuation  marks  in  their 
letters  and  spell  their  words  correctly.  They  go  a  long 
way  around  me  to  patronize  my  rival  up  the  river,  but 
somehow  he  does  not  get  along,  for  he  is  extravagant, 
while  I  save  and  work  hard  that  I  may  live  in  a  house 
Hke  a  man,  instead  of  in  a  shed,  like  the  cattle.  The 
v  agrants  who  idle  in  the  shadow  of  my  buildings  say  that 
[  ain  *  lucky,'  but  they  are  incapable  of  understanding  the 
work  I  do." 

When  the  work  we  had  set  out  to  do  was  completed,  it 
was  near  midnight,  but  after  shutting  down,  Jo  showed 


AGGRAVATION.  349 

BO  disposition  to  return  to  the  house,  for  I  think  he  hated 
it,  and  was  seldom  there  at  night.  There  were  boats  on 
the  mill  pond,  and  I  proposed  a  row.  With  his  strong 
arms  at  the  oars,  we  were  soon  far  up  the  stream,  and 
although  I  tried  to  rally  him,  he  had  little  to  say,  except 
to  answer  uiy  questions. 

Two  miles  above  the  mill  there  was  a  bend  in  the 
river,  and  for  a  considerable  distance  I  knew  the  road 
leading  to  the  Shepherds'  skirted  the  stream,  and  before 
we  reached  it  I  was  certain  we  should  find  Clinton  Bragg 
travelling  it.  I  became  so  impressed  with  the  idea  that  I 
suggested  that  we  turn  back,  but  with  the  strange  fascina 
tion  which  always  pursued  him,  Jo  said  he  needed  exer 
cise,  and  continued  to  pull  at  the  oars. 

As  I  feared,  when  we  came  to  the  point  where  the  road 
ran  close  to  the  river,  Clinton  Bragg  appeared  on  horse 
back,  riding  leisurely  toward  town.  It  was  rather  a  dark 
night,  but  we  were  so  close  to  him  that  I  could  see  that 
while  we  had  tried  to  avoid  noticing  his  presence,  he  stared 
insolently  at  us,  and  even  slackened  the  speed  of  his  horse. 

Jo  pretended  not  to  see  him,  continuing  to  work  at  the 
oars,  but  I  could  hear  his  hot,  heavy  breathing,  and  knew 
that  he  was  in  great  excitement.  He  had  not  been  dis 
posed  to  talk  before,  but  I  could  get  nothing  out  of  him 
after  this,  and,  changing  places  with  him,  I  pulled  the  boat 
back  to  the  mill  in  silence. 

The  next  day  was  Sunday,  and  it  happened  that  we  saw 
Bragg  pass,  going  toward  the  Shepherds'  in  the  morning, 
and  return  at  night,  and  Jo  told  me  that  it  was  always  so ; 
a  day  never  passed  of  late  that  he  did  not  come  upon 
him  going  or  coming,  and  from  his  fierce  manner  when  he 
spoke  of  it  I  thought  that  if  Bragg  knew  the  danger  he  was 
»n,  he  woulc1  travel  the  other  road,  for  there  was  another 
ane,  which  was  several  miles  shorter, 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

A  LETTER  FROM  MR.  BIGGS. 

MY  DEAR  SIR,  —  Occasionally  a  gem  occurs  to  ma 
which  I  am  unable  to  favor  you  with  because  of  late  we  arc 
not  much  together.  Appreciating  the  keen  delight  with 
which  you  have  been  kind  enough  to  receive  my  philoso 
phy,  I  take  the  liberty  of  sending  herewith  a  number  of 
ideas  which  may  please  and  benefit  you,  and  which  I  have 
divided  into  paragraphs  with  headings. 

HAPPINESS. 

I  have  observed  that  happiness  and  brains  seldom  go 
together.  The  pin-headed  woman  who  regards  her  thin- 
witted  husband  as  the  greatest  man  in  the  world,  is  happy, 
and  much  good  may  it  do  her.  In  such  cases  ignorance 
is  a  positive  blessing,  for  good  sense  would  cause  the 
woman  to  realize  her  distressed  condition.  A  man  who 
can  think  he  is  as  "  good  as  anybody  "  is  happy.  The  fact 
may  be  notorious  that  the  man  is  not  so  "  good  as  any 
body"  until  he  is  as  industrious,  as  educated,  and  as 
refined  as  anybody,  but  he  has  not  brains  enough  to  know 
this,  and,  content  with  conceit,  is  happy.  A  man  with  a 
braii.  large  enough  to  understand  mankind  is  always 
wretched  and  ashamed  of  himself. 

REPUTATION. 

Reputation  is  not  always  desirable.    The  only  thing  J 
have  ever  heard  said  in  Twin  Mounds  concerning  Smoky 
Hill  is  that  good  hired  girls  may  be  had  there. 
860 


TUB  8MOKY   HTLL8  PHILOSOPnEB.  851 


1 .  Most  women  seem  to  love  for  no  other  reason  than 
that  it  is  expected  of  them. 

2.  I  know  too  much  about  women  to  honor  tham  more 
than  they  deserve;  in  fact  I  know  all   about  them.    1 
visited  a  place  once  where  doctors  are  made,  and  saw 
them  cut  up  one. 

3.  A  woman  loses  her  power  when  she  allows  a  man  to 
find  out  all  there  is  tc  her ;  I  mean  by  this  that  familiarity 
breeds  contempt.    I  knew  a  young  man  once  who  worked 
beside  a  woman  in  an  office,  and  he  never  married. 

4.  If  men  would  only  tell  what  they  actually  know 
about  women,  instead  of  what  they  believe  or  hear,  they 
would  receive  more  credit  for  chastity  than  is  now  the 
case,  for  they  deserve  more. 

LACK   OP   SELF-CONFIDENCE. 

As  a  people  we  lack  self-confidence.  The  country  is  full 
of  men  that  will  readily  talk  you  to  death  privately,  who 
would  run  away  in  alarm  if  asked  to  preside  at  a  public 
meeting.  In  my  Alliance  movement  I  often  have  trouble 
in  getting  out  a  crowd,  every  farmer  in  the  neighborhood 
feeling  of  so  much  importance  as  to  fear  that  if  he  attend* 
he  will  be  called  upon  to  say  something. 

IN  DISPUTE. 

Jii  some  communities  where  I  have  lived  the  women 
were  mean  to  their  husbands ;  in  others,  the  husband* 
were  mean  to  their  wives.  It  is  usually  the  case  that  the 
friends  of  a  wife  believe  her  husband  to  be  a  brute,  and 
the  friends  of  the  husband  believe  the  wife  to  possess  no 
other  talent  than  to  make  him  miserable.  You  can't  tell 
bow  it  is;  the  evidence  is  divided. 


352  THE  8TOEY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 


KUT. 

There  is  only  one  grade  of  men ;  they  are  all  contemp 
tible.  The  judge  may  seem  to  "be  a  superior  creature  so 
long  as  he  keeps  at  a  distance,  for  I  have  never  knovra 
one  who  was  not  constantly  trying  to  look  wise  and  grave ; 
but  when  you  know  him,  you  find  there  is  nothing  re 
markable  about  him  except  a  plug  hat,  a  respectable  coait, 
and  a  great  deal  of  vanity,  induced  by  the  servility  of 
those  who  expect  favors. 

OPPORTUNITY. 

You  hear  a  great  many  persons  regretting  lack  of  op- 
portunity.  If  every  man  had  opportunity  for  his  desires, 
this  would  be  a  nation  of  murderers  and  disgraced  women . 

EXPECTATION. 

Always  be  ready  for  that  which  you  do  not  expect. 
Nothing  that  you  expect  ever  happens.  You  have  per 
haps  observed  that  when  you  are  waiting  for  a  visitor  at 
the  front  door,  he  comes  in  at  the  back,  and  surprises  you. 

WOMAN'S  WORK. 

A  woman's  work  is  never  done,  as  the  almanacs  state, 
for  the  reason  that  she  does  not  go  about  it  in  time  to 
finish  it. 

THE   GREATEST   OF   THESE   IS    CHARITY. 

If  you  cannot  resist  the  low  impulse  to  talk  about  peo» 
Die,  say  only  what  you  actually  know,  instead  of  what  you 
have  heard.  And,  while  you  are  about  it,  stop  and 
rider  whether  you  are  not  in  need  of  charity  yourself. 


WISDOM  OF  JIB.   BIGGS.  86S 


NEIGHBORS. 

livery  man  over-estimates  his  neighbors,  because  h« 
does  not  know  them  so  well  as  he  knows  himself.  A  sen- 
lible  man  despises  himself  because  he  knows  what  a  con 
temptible  creature  he  is.  I  despise  Lytle  Biggs,  but  1 
happen  to  know  that  his  neighbors  are  just  as  bad. 

VTBTTJE. 

Men  are  virtuous  because  the  women  are ;  women  art 
virtuous  from  necessity. 

ASHAMED   OP   THE   TBUTH. 

I  believe  I  never  knew  anyone  who  was  not  ashamed 
of  the  truth.  Did  you  ever  notice  that  a  railroad  com- 
pany  numbers  its  cars  from  1,000,  instead  of  from  1  ? 

KNOWING  ONLY  ONE  OF  THEM. 

We  are  sometimes  unable  to  understand  why  a  pretty 
Httle  woman  marries  a  fellow  we  know  to  be  worthless ; 
but  the  fellow,  who  knows  the  woman  better  than  we  di>, 
considers  that  he  has  thrown  himself  away.  We  know 
the  fellow,  but  we  do  not  know  the  woman. 

AN    APOLOGY. 

I  detest  an  apology.  The  world  is  full  of  people  who 
are  always  making  trouble  and  apologizing  for  it.  If  a 
man  respects  me,  he  will  not  give  himself  occasion  for 
apology.  An  offence  cannot  be  wiped  out  in  that  way. 
If  it  could,  we  would  substitute  apologies  for  hangings.  I 
hope  you  will  never  apologize  to  me ;  I  should  regard  h 
u  evidence  that  you  had  wronged  me. 


854  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 


OLDEST    INHABITANTS. 

The  people  cf  Smoky  Hill  are  only  fit  for  oldest  inhabi 
tants.  In  thirty  or  forty  years  from  now,  there  will  bo  a 
great  demand  for  reminiscences  of  the  pioneer  days.  I 
recommend  that  they  preserve  extensive  data  for  the  only 
period  in  their  lives  when  they  can  hope  to  attract  atten 
tion. 

Be  good  enough,  sir,  to  regard  me,  as  of  old,  youi 
friend.  L. 

T*  NXD  WKBTLOCK,  Twin 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

KILLED  AT  THE  FOBD. 

JO  ERRING  and  his  wife  had  been  separated  a  yeal 
and  a  half,  during  which  time  I  saw  Jo  frequently, 
but  never  his  wife,  for  I  had  grown  to  accept  her  hus 
band's  opinion  that  she  was  glad  to  be  rid  of  him.  I  was 
often  at  the  mill,  and  he  often  came  to  town,  when  I 
saw  that  he  was  growing  gradually  more  desperate  and 
wretched,  and  uneasy  in  his  manner,  but  I  was  not  pre 
pared  for  the  announcement  which  Damon  Barker  made 
to  me  by  letter  one  day  that  he  had  secured  a  divorce 
from  his  wife,  and  that  the  case  was  more  serious  than  I 
supposed.  On  investigating  the  matter  I  found  that  the 
divorce  had  been  granted  a  few  months  before,  on  the 
ground  of  desertion,  and  so  quietly  was  it  done  that  but 
few  knew  of  it.  Jo  had  probably  attended  to  the  details 
on  his  visits  to  the  town,  and  as  it  was  a  clear  case  the 
application  was  quietly  granted  by  the  judge  in  chambers, 
who  happened  to  be  familiar  with  all  the  circumstances, 

I  shall  always  believe  that  the  unhappy  man  made  the 
application  in  desperation,  hoping  it  would  bring  his 
affairs  to  a  crisis,  but  as  Mateel  never  appeared  to  answer, 
ha  concluded  she  was  satisfied  with  his  course,  which 
made  him  more  sullen  and  resentful. 

The  Shepherds  were  seldom  seen  since  the  difficulty, 
and  it  was  thought  that  they  were  proud  and  haughty,  so 
that  but  few  went  to  their  house,  and  these  Mateel  alwayg 
avoided.  Occasionally  the  minister  was  seen  working 

355 


856  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

about  his  place,  but  he  never  left  it,  and  it  was  believed 
by  a  great  many  that  he  received  financial  help  from 
Clinton  Bragg. 

Within  a  year  Clinton  Bragg  had  greatly  improved 
He  no  longer  patronized  his  bottle,  and  he  dressed  bettei 
than  before,  and  his  temper  was  visibly  better.  Although 
I  knew  this,  I  did  not  particularly  remark  it  or  his  visits 
to  the  Shepherds',  for  he  had  been  a  frequent  visitor  there 
from  the  time  he  came  to  the  country,  which  I  had  always 
regarded  simply  as  an  annoyance  to  Jo ;  therefore  my  sur 
prise  may  be  imagined  when  I  received  a  note  from  Barker 
one  morning,  at  the  hands  of  Big  Adam,  stating  that 
Bragg  and  Mateel  were  to  be  married  that  evening.  J 
had  not  seen  Jo  since  learning  of  the  divorce,  and  at  once 
resolved  to  go  to  the  mill.  Knowing  Bragg's  malicious 
nature,  I  was  certain  that  he  would  drive  by  the  ford  on 
his  return  to  Twin  Mounds  with  Mateel,  and  I  hoped  that 
in  some  way  I  should  be  able  to  prevent  Jo's  seeing  them. 
I  cannot  remember  now  whether  I  thought  a  sight  of  them 
would  cause  him  a  burst  of  grief  or  anger,  but  I  was  sure 
I  could  be  of  use  to  him  in  some  way,  and  at  once  deter 
mined  to  leave  for  Fairview  and  spend  the  night  at  the 
mill. 

The  pity  and  friendliness  I  had  formerly  entertained 
for  Mateel  vanished  with  the  messenger  who  brought  me 
the  letter  announcing  her  contemplated  marriage  to  Clinton 
Bragg,  though  my  first  feeling  was  of  horror  and  indigna 
tion  at  a  step  which  seemed  so  indelicate  and  cruel.  I 
think  that  during  that  day  I  hated  her  more  than  I  had  ever 
Uated  Bragg,  for  I  could  make  nothing  out  of  it  further 
than  that  she  desired  the  ruin  and  disgrace  of  Jo.  I  even 
brought  to  mind  incidents  familiar  to  me  to  prove  thai 
she  was  malicious,  cunning,  and  deceitful,  and  upbraided 
myself  that  I  had  not  warned  Jo  of  it  long  ago. 


THE  ALABM  PROM  THE  BELL.       357 

I  intended  to  drive  over  early  in  the  afternoon,  but  cus 
tomers  came  in  to  detain  me,  and  it  was  late  before  I  left 
the  office  to  get  ready.  I  had  walked  about  like  a  man 
in  an  uncomfortable  dream  all  day  and  could  do  nothing, 
for  the  more  closely  I  applied  myself  to  whatever  I  was 
about,  the  less  I  accomplished.  Tiresome  men  I  did  not 
care  to  see,  but  whom  I  could  not  very  well  avoid,  carne 
in  one  after  another,  and  I  became  so  nervous  at  their 
appearance  as  to  be  almost  helpless.  When  at  last  1 
started  for  the  house,  a  thousand  voices  seemed  to  be  ur 
ging  me  to  hurry,  and  I  ran  like  a  madman  to  complete 
my  simple  preparations  for  the  trip.  Once  on  the  road,  I 
lashed  the  horses  into  a  run,  but  in  spite  of  this  I  seemed 
to  make  only  slow  progress,  like  a  man  in  a  troubled  dream 
pursued  by  devils.  It  became  so  dark  when  I  was  half  way 
that  in  the  creek  valleys  I  was  compelled  to  get  out  and 
lead  the  horses,  and  when  I  was  yet  a  long  way  from 
Fairview,  the  dull  tolling  of  the  great  bell  in  the  steeple 
of  the  church  startled  me. 

It  was  a  wild  night  in  April,  with  a  storm  threatening, 
and  the  hawks  and  owls  flew  almost  in  my  face  in  their 
hurry  to  find  shelter.  A  single  black  cloud,  which  was 
gathering  in  the  south  when  I  started,  had  overspread  the 
heavens,  resulting  in  almost  inky  darkness,  and  gusts  of 
wind  came  dashing  upon  me  with  such  sudden  fury,  fol 
lowing  a  dead  calm,  that  the  horses  tried  to  take  the  bits 
in  their  teeth  and  run  away  from  it. 

The  bell  continued  to  toll  at  intervals,  not  distinctly, 
bu$  only  as  you  remember  noises  after  a  stormy  night,  and 
once  I  thought  I  heard  a  great  number  of  strokes  in  quick 
succession,  as  though  an  alarm  were  being  sounded.  By 
this  time  I  was  travelling  on  a  high  divide  where  I  knew 
the  road  to  be  safe,  and  urging  the  horses  again  intc 
quicker  apeed,  they  ran  as  if  they,  too,  had  heard  the 


358  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY   TOWtf. 

alarm  from  the  bell.  If  I  was  frightened  at  the  fearful 
speed  I  was  travelling,  I  thought  of  the  howling  innda 
behind  me,  which  seemed  to  be  always  overtaking  and 
passing  me  to  make  mischief  beyond;  as  I  passe  1  the 
occasional  houses  I  saw  the  people,  attracted  by  the  noise 
of  my  wheels,  run  to  the  windows,  and,  flattening  their 
faces  against  the  panes,  peer  out  into  the  night.  I  won- 
dered  why  thoy  did  not  come  out  and  follow  me,  ar,d,  half 
convinced  that  they  would,  I  determined  to  beat  them  to 
the  mill  and  lashed  the  horses  into  greater  speed. 

When  at  last  I  arrived  at  the  mill  everything  seemed  so 
quiet  and  safe  that  I  was  ashamed  of  my  alarm,  and  after 
hitching  the  horses  at  the  gate  I  walked  up  to  the  house, 
trying  to  recover  my  composure.  The  house  dog,  which 
T  had  known  all  his  life,  dashed  at  me  in  the  greatest  fury 
when  I  came  up  to  the  door,  and  his  old  companion,  the 
house  cat,  screamed  out  on  seeing  me,  and  dashed  away 
as  if  pursued.  Everything  was  wrong,  and  there  were 
wild  cries  and  alarms  in  the  wind,  which  was  now  blow- 
mg  furiously. 

A  light  burned  in  the  front  room,  and  a  fire  in  the  grate, 
but  going  in  I  found  the  room  empty.  Even  the  fire 
dashed  at  me  with  puffs  of  smoke,  and  the  lamp  burned 
IOT\  without  cause.  I  found  the  room  in  the  greatest  con 
fusion,  and  Jo's  bed,  which  had  been  brought  down  from 
the  upper  part  of  the  house,  was  in  disorder,  as  though  it 
had  been  lately  used.  I  went  into  all  the  other  rooms, 
calling  the  name  of  Jo,  but  I  found  them  dark  and  silent. 
I  walked  out  into  the  yard  and  called  him,  but  the  dog 
dashed  at  me  again  as  though  I  were  a  robber,  and  would 
not  recognize  my  voice.  The  water  pouring  over  th« 
dam,  which  had  lulled  me  to  sleep  a  hundred  times,  roared 
to-night,  and  I  will  swear  that  the  wind  was  sobbing  at 
•very  doc-/  and  window  when  I  returned  to  the  liouso.  Hi 


MATEELS   RETUKN.  859 


at  ease  I  went  to  the  door  and  called  again,  but  the 
took  up  the  sound  of  my  voice  and  hurried  off  with  it 
into  the  darkness  of  the  woods. 

Hoping  that  Jo  would  soon  return  I  sat  down  by  the 
open  fire,  but  I  saw  such  faces  in  it  that  they  made  me 
fehudder,  and  I  tried  to  listen  for  his  approaching  foot 
steps,  but  the  wind  had  turned  into  a  fierce  cry  of  agony 
or  vengeance,  I  could  not  tell  which,  and  I  could  hear 
nothing  else.  Impatiently  taking  up  a  book  I  thought  to 
read,  but  the  first  lines  were  of  murder  and  of  blood,  and 
I  threw  it  down,  cursing  the  dog,  the  book,  and  the  storm. 
Occasionally  the  rain  came  dashing  down  on  the  roof,  pre 
ceded  by  great  drops  which  seemed  to  me  like  tears  shed 
by  a  pitying  heaven,  and  then  the  rain  ceased  again,  as  if 
the  elements  were  not  yet  ready  for  a  bad  night. 

While  trying  to  decide  whether  to  go  out  and  hunt  for 
Jo,  or  wait  quietly  for  his  return,  the  door  suddenly  burst 
open,  and  my  uncle  came  in,  carrying  Mateel  in  his  arms, 
as  easily  as  though  she  were  a  child.  Going  straight  to 
the  bed,  without  looking  to  the  right  or  to  the  left,  and  ap 
parently  without  seeing  me,  he  gently  laid  her  down,  and, 
falling  on  his  knees,  passionately  kissed  the  pale  face.  As 
he  kneeled  over  her,  he  sobbed  and  cried  aloud,  as  he  had 
done  on  the  night  she  went  away,  but,  recollecting  him- 
self,  he  roughly  wiped  away  his  tears,  and  tenderly  con 
templated  the  insensible  woman  before  him,  for  she  seemed 
to  be  in  a  faint.  I  thought  that  could  the  devils  he  told 
about  as  haunting  the  cave  fully  realize  his  abject  wretched 
ness,  they  would  have  been  awed  into  respectful  silence, 
and  allowed  the  tender  symphony  to  find  its  way  to  hi/i 
bleeding  heart. 

He  was  in  such  excitement  that  I  was  almost  afraid  to 
speak  to  him,  for  his  eyes  were  wild  and  fierce,  his  hair 
dishevelled  like  a  madman's,  and  his  clothing  in  such  di* 


360  THE  STORY  OF   A  COUNTRY  TOW.S. 

order  that  I  thought  he  had  been  long  out  in  the  storm, 
As  he  turned  and  saw  me,  he  cried  out  fiercely  :  — 

"  She  belongs  to  me,  and  I  have  protected  her  honor ! 
The  dog  whose  ambition  it  wag  to  disgrace  me  through 
her  weakness  is  dead ! " 

He  was  a  giant  in  physical  stature,  and  every  muscle 
quivered  with  excitement.  I  thought  that  had  he  been 
called  upon  to  rescue  his  wife  from  a  dozen  men  in  his 
present  state,  he  would  have  undertaken  and  accomplished 
it,  and  I  shuddered  to  think  what  had  befallen  the  one 
man  against  him.  I  had  never  noticed  it  there  before,  but 
the  tolling  of  the  great  bell  at  Fairview  could  be  distinctly 
heard. 

When  1  stood  up  and  looked  at  Mateel,  I  drew  back  in 
horror  at  the  change  in  her  appearance.  Her  form  was 
wasted  and  thin,  and  her  face  so  pale  that  I  feared  she 
was  dead.  Instead  of  wearing  a  bridal  dress,  her  apparel 
was  of  black  material,  which  made  her  look  more  ghastly. 

"  Oh !  Jo,"  I  said,  "  what  have  you  done  ?  " 

"  This,"  he  answered,  looking  first  at  Mateel's  motion 
less  form  on  the  bed,  and  then  coming  toward  me.  "  This : 
I  picked  up  Clinton  Bragg  from  his  seat  beside  Mateel  as 
they  came  through  the  woods  by  the  ford,  and  strangled 
him  as  I  would  strangle  a  dog.  I  held  him  out  at  arm's 
length  until  he  was  limp  and  dead,  and  threw  his  carcass 
into  the  brush.  Then,  taking  Mateel  in  my  arms,  I  lashed 
the  devilish  horse  until  he  ran  away  through  the  timber, 
when  I  waded  the  creek,  and  came  here ! " 

It  W3<»  a  short  but  terrible  story,  and  his  tragic  telling 
rf  it  so  impressed  me  that  I  almost  cheered  him,  knowing 
he  wrong  he  had  suffered. 

Mateel  still  lay  quietly  on  the  bed,  occasionally  moan 
ing,  and  Jo  went  to  her  again,  and  lovingly  caressed  her, 
M  he  might  have  done  had  she  been  his  lawful  wife  in 


*'I    WADED   THE    CREEK,    AND    CAME    HERE1 


UNREPENTANT.  861 

temporary  distress,  and  I  thought  his  manner  was  softened 
by  contemplating  her  misery,  for  when  he  spoke  again  it 
w  as  half  in  apology. 

"  I  have  always  feared  this,  and  although  I  have  done 
dn  awful  thing,  I  could  not  do  less."  He  walked  toward 
me  and  stood  by  my  side.  "  Bragg  pursued  me  with  re 
lentless  hate,  and  he  is  as  much  to  blame  as  I  am.  They 
might  have  known  I  would  not  submit  to  this  cruelty ;  it 
was  more  than  I  could  bear,  and  I  could  not  help  doing 
what  I  did." 

I  had  been  oppressed  for  a  long  time  with  a  vague  fear, 
though  I  was  never  clear  as  to  what  it  was,  that  some 
thing  dreadful  would  come  of  the  separation,  and  as  I  sat 
there,  looking  from  the  helpless  woman  lying  on  the  bed 
to  the  wretched  man  walking  the  floor,  I  almost  concluded 
that  the  murder  of  Clinton  Bragg  was  the  result  I  had 
expected. 

"  There  is  so  much  wickedness  in  my  heart  to-night  that 
I  am  proud  of  what  I  have  done,"  Jo  said,  stopping  in  his 
walk,  as  though  he  had  been  thinking  it  over  and  had 
come  to  that  conclusion.  "  I  cannot  regret  it ;  the  mur 
der  of  that  man  has  given  me  the  only  relief  I  have  known 
in  three  years,  and  I  feel  like  calling  at  the  houses  of  honest 
people,  and  crying,  *  A  man  who  deserved  death  is  dead  ! ' 
Even  the  wind  was  crying  fiercely  for  revenge  when  he 
was  seated  beside  my  wife  intent  on  his  unnatural  and 
fiendish  purpose,  but  it  is  quiet  now,  and  sobbing  in  pity 
for  me.  I  never  insulted  my  manhood  nor  mankind  by 
trying  to  curb  my  fierce  passion  when  I  heard  he  intended 
to  pass  my  house  with  Mateel.  I  resolved  to  murder  him, 
and  all  honest  men  will  say  I  could  have  done  nothing 
ess!" 

He  began  pacing  up  and  down  the  room  again,  at  one 
moment  a  fierce  demon,  and  at  another  a  man  softened  by 


862  THE  STORY  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

tears,  and  I  saw  by  his  manner  that  he  realized  that  MateeJ 
must  not  remain  there,  for  he  went  over  to  her  side,  and 
fondly  kissed  her,  as  if  for  the  last  time.  Perhaps  he 
thought  when  he  took  her  in  his  arms  hi  the  woods  that 
his  troubles  would  end  after  crossing  the  stream  and  en- 
tering  his  own  door,  and  that  they  would  live  in  peace 
thereafter,  but  he  realized  now  that  his  action  had  only 
tightened  the  coils  of  misfortune  about  him. 

"  She  would  despise  me  for  this  deed  if  she  knew  it," 
he  said.  "I  have  killed  her  husband,  and  she  does  not 
belong  here.  Take  her  to  her  mother  before  she  wakens 
and  reproaches  me,  and  then  come  back  to  me." 

Realizing  the  force  of  the  suggestion,  I  answered  that 
my  team  was  hitched  in  front  of  the  house,  and  without 
further  words  he  picked  Mateel  up,  and  carried  her  out. 
Although  able  to  sit  up,  she  did  not  seem  to  be  conscious 
of  what  had  happened,  but  sat  moaning  and  crying  beside 
me  when  I  drove  away,  leaving  Jo  standing  at  the  gate. 

The  night  was  very  dark,  but  the  wind  had  gone  down, 
and  I  was  only  able  to  find  my  way  by  the  frequent 
flashes  of  livid  lightning.  After  I  passed  the  ford,  and 
entered  the  woods,  in  spite  of  myself  I  began  to  watch  the 
road-side  for  the  body  of  the  dead  man,  hoping  that  he 
was  only  stunned,  and  had  crawled  away.  I  had  stopped 
for  the  lightning  to  flash  again  to  show  me  the  road 
through  the  tress,  and  when  it  came  I  saw  Bragg  pros 
trate  beside  me,  so  close  to  the  road  that  I  feared  the 
horses  had  trampled  upon  him.  In  the  instant  I  saw  that 
he  was  lying  on  his  back ;  his  arms  thrown  out  on  either 
side,  and  that  his  face  was  white  in  death.  In  looking  at 
him  I  had  neglected  to  observe  the  road,  and  sat  there 
Baiting  for  another  flash.  With  it  came  the  rain,  and 
»eeing  my  way  I  started  the  impatient  horses  at  a  brblf 
urot. 


SETTLED  PURPOSE.  363 

When  I  stopped  in  front  of  Mr.  Shepherd's  house,  1 
saw  that  a  light  still  burned  within,  and,  hurriedly  securing 
the  horses,  I  took  Mateel  in  my  arms,  and  rapped  at  the 
door.  Mr.  Shepherd  came  in  answer  to  it,  bearing  a 
light  in  his  hand,  and,  seeing  me  with  my  strange  burden, 
staggered  back  in  alarm. 

"There  has  been  an  accident,"  I  said,  "but  your 
daughter  is  not  hurt ;  only  frightened,  and  in  a  faint." 

He  took  his  child  tenderly  in  his  arms,  and  with  the 
assistance  of  his  wife  tried  to  revive  her. 

"  I  must  hurry  away,"  I  said,  dreading  to  tell  them  all. 
M  You  will  hear  further  news  to-morrow." 

Neither  of  them  said  a  word,  but  I  believed  they  knew 
what  the  accident  was,  for  they  acted  as  though  they  had 
been  waiting  for  it,  and  were  not  surprised  that  their 
unhappy  child  had  been  returned  to  them  alone. 

The  lightning  by  this  time  came  in  such  rapidly  follow 
ing  flashes  that  I  had  no  difficulty  hi  driving  at  a  smart 
gait,  and  when  I  approached  the  ford  my  eyes  were  again 
drawn  against  my  will  to  the  prostrate  form  under  the 
trees.  It  had  not  been  disturbed,  and  I  hurried  past  it, 
and  into  the  house,  where  Jo  was  sitting  by  the  fire  with 
his  hat  on,  ready  to  go  out.  He  looked  up  when  I  came 
in,  but  made  no  inquiries,  and,  buttoning  his  coat,  said  ho 
was  ready  to  go.  In  response  to  my  curious  look  he 
/eplied :  — 

"  There  is  but  one  thing  to  do ;  to  notify  the  officers, 
ind  finish  this  night's  work  in  jail.  I  have  thoroughly 
considered  the  matter  while  you  were  away,  and  that  is 
nay  decision.  When  I  heard  that  this  marriage  was  to 
take  place,  I  resolved  to  do  what  I  have  done  to-night, 
and  arranged  my  business  for  it  by  leasing  the  mill.  The 
.nan  who  is  to  operate  it  is  my  present  assistant,  and  all 
Ihe  necessary  arrangements  have  been  made ;  I  only  hope 


864  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

now  that  I  shall  be  disposed  of  as  soon  as  possible,  1  da 
not  regret  what  I  have  done,  now  that  it  is  done,  and  th« 
most  pleasant  moment  of  my  life  was  when  I  clutched  the 
throat  of  the  man  who  has  been  relentlessly  pursuing  me 
for  five  years.  He  could  not  be  induced  to  give  up  his 
design,  and  I  could  do  nothing  else  than  murder  him.  I 
have  only  lived  for  the  past  few  months  to  guard  Mated 
against  him,  and  now  that  she  is  no  longer  in  danger,  I  am 
ready  for  the  worst.  When  I  looked  into  her  face  to 
night,  it  startled  me  to  see  how  she  has  failed  since  we 
separated.  I  shall  always  feel  grateful  to  her  that  she 
was  not  dressed  as  a  bride,  but  in  mournful  black.  Always 
delicate,  she  is  but  a  shadow  now,  and  the  marriage  of 
Bragg  to  a  woman  who  is  but  a  puny  invalid  convinces 
me  that  he,  at  least,  brought  it  about  to  revenge  himself 
on  me.  He  brought  on  the  quarrel ;  I  hope  he  is  satisfied. 
I  am  sure  only  Mateel's  weakness  is  to  blame  for  her  part 
in  the  affair,  for  marriage  in  her  condition  was  mockery." 

He  appeared  more  contented  and  easy  than  he  had 
been  since  the  separation,  like  a  man  who  had  accom 
plished  an  object  that  had  been  his  ambition  for  a  long 
urne,  and  sat  down  again,  quite  at  ease,  when  he  saw  I  was 
not  yet  ready  to  go,  but  was  trying  to  dry  my  wet  gar 
ments  at  the  fire.  I  even  thought  he  felt  in  good  spirits, 
.or  he  straightened  himself  in  such  a  manner  as  to  be 
comfortable  in  his  chair,  and  beat  a  merry  tattoo  with  the 
fingers  of  his  hand  which  rested  on  the  table. 

When  at  last  I  was  ready  to  start  to  town  with  him  — 
I  had  never  thought  of  opposing  him,  he  seemed  so  satis- 
fied  with  the  course  he  had  marked  out — he  collected  a 
few  articles  which  he  said  might  be  of  use  to  him  during 
nis  imprisonment,  and,  making  them  into  a  bundle,  ex- 
tingiished  the  light,  and  followed  me,  after  locking  tbi 
door  and  handing  me  the  key. 


A  RIDE  TO  JAIL.  365 

"  I  shall  nover  see  the  place  again,  of  course,  nor  do  1 
want  to  see  it,"  he  said.  "  I  have  had  a  hard  time  of  if  here, 
from  first  to  last,  and  for  all  my  work  I  get  nothing  but  a 
ride  to  jail  to  be  locked  up  for  murder.  A  splendid  fel 
low,  I,  that  could  work  to  no  better  purpose.  I  thought 
once  I  was  something  of  a  genius,  and  rather  a  remarkable 
fellow,  but  like  all  other  fools  I  am  found  out.  There  is 
one  satisfaction  in  it  all ;  I  was  not  all  my  life  finding  out 
my  mistake.  I  am  now  but  twenty-six ;  I  have  known 
greater  fools  than  I  am,  at  seventy.  I  am  glad  there  is  a 
storm ;  I  like  to  be  out  in  it." 

On  the  way  he  kept  talking  in  a  half -boisterous  manner, 
though  I  could  detect  a  mournful  strain  through  it  all. 
Once  he  wondered  if  there  was  a  possibility  that  Bragg 
had  only  been  stunned,  and,  stopping  the  horses,  wanted  to 
go  back  to  see.  But  after  thinking  about  it  awhile,  he 
said:  — 

"  No  danger  of  that.  He  fell  out  of  my  grasp  as  limp 
as  a  rag.  I  held  him  at  arm's  length  to  represent  a  gibbet, 
and  my  fingers  were  the  rope,  for  the  brute  deserved 
hanging.  I  was  determined  that  he  should  die  a  dishon 
orable  death  as  well  as  I.  When  he  is  found,  there  will 
be  marks  about  his  throat  as  though  he  had  been  hanged ; 
his  tongue  will  protrude  from  his  mouth,  and  his  eyes 
start  from  their  sockets,  as  they  say  men  look  who  have 
been  hanged.  My  only  regret  is  that  there  was  not  a 
crowd  present  to  witness  his  dog's  death.  But  the  crowd 
will  gather  around  him  to-morrow,  and  be  horrified  at  his 
appearance." 

Several  times  he  described  with  pleasure  the  horrible 
tragedy  in  the  woods  near  the  ford,  hoarsely  laughing  ag 
ue  told  how  Bragg  had  writhed  and  struggled  in  his  grasp, 
and  once  he  asked  me  to  feel  the  bunch  of  muscle  on  the 
itrong  arm  which  had  righted  his  wrong.  He  told  how  he 


566  THE  8TOBY    OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

had  skulked  under  the  trees  waiting  for  their  approach, 
dodging  from  one  to  another  when  he  saw  them  in  the 
road ;  how  he  had  hidden  behind  a  tree  until  they  wer* 
beside  him;  how  Bragg  had  trembled  in  fear  when  he 
felt  his  fingers  about  his  throat ;  how  fast  and  furious  tne 
vicious  horse  ran  crashing  through  the  underbrush  when 
he  lashed  him  with  a  keen  hickory  withe  cut  for  the  pur 
pose,  and  how  he  almost  shouted  in  exultation  when  he 
had  Mateel  in  his  arms.  He  recited  all  the  sickening  par 
ticulars  with  so  much  pleasure  that  I  feared  he  was  out  of 
his  head,  and  occupied  myself  in  mentally  making  notes  of 
what  he  said  to  prove  that  he  was  not  responsible  for  his 
act.  At  another  time  he  cried  out  impatiently :  — 

"  Why  don't  you  applaud  what  I  have  done  ?  You  have 
not  said  a  word  all  evening,  though  you  usually  cry,  4  Brave 
Jo  1 '  when  I  have  accomplished  a  purpose,  but  you  seem 
ashamed  of  me  now." 

"  Oh,  Jo,"  I  replied,  "  you  have  done  an  awful  thing, 
and  while  I  know  you  were  wronged  by  Bragg,  I  shudder 
to  think  of  the  consequences.  I  cannot  approve  of  this 
act,  Jo,  the  first  one  you  ever  did  at  which  I  could  not  cry, 
'Brave  Jo!'" 

"  Can  you,  my  only  friend,  wish  that  Bragg  were  alive 
again  ?  "  he  answered,  "  and  asleep  in  the  arms  of  Mateel, 
with  me  alone  in  my  unhappy  home  ?  Surely  it  is  better  as 
\t  is ;  I  should  have  killed  myself  if  I  had  not  killed  Bragg, 
and  you  must  say  —  you  cannot  help  it  —  that  he  deserved 
death  as  much  as  I.  He  deserved  it  more,  for  he  is  the 
jsause  of  it  all ;  but  we  shall  both  give  up  our  lives  in  the 
tragedy.  I  took  no  more  from  him  than  the  law  will 
take  from  me,  and  although  he  is  to  blame  he  makes  no 
greater  sacrifice  than  I  do.  I  would  not  be  unjust  to  a 
dog;  I  have  not  been  unjust  to  him.  If  there  c*n  b« 


SURRENDERING   TO   JUSTICE.  861 

pity  in  each  a  business,  I  am  more  deserving  of  it  thai 
he." 

I  (lid  not  dare  to  express  my  real  sentiments  for  fear  of 
encouraging  him,  as  I  felt  he  had  fairly  expressed  it  when 
he  said  he  could  do  nothing  else  than  murder  Clinton 
Bragg.  He  had  pursued  him  for  years  in  the  face  of  re 
peated  warnings,  and  knowing  Jo's  desperation,  his  action 
in  inducing  Mateel  to  take  the  step  at  a  time  when  she  was 
weak  and  sick  could  have  been  nothing  else  than  wicked 
ness  and  villainy.  But  I  said  as  little  as  possible  during 
the  drive,  and  occupied  myself  in  devising  plans  for  his 
escape.  I  believed  that  Bragg's  unpopularity  would  be  of 
benefit  in  the  trial,  as  well  as  all  the  circumstances  of  the 
case,  and  felt  certain  that  the  people  would  generally  be  in 
sympathy  with  Jo. 

When  we  arrived  in  the  town  it  was  as  still  as  the  country 
we  had  just  left,  and  rattling  loudly  at  the  sheriffs  door, 
whose  residence  was  in  the  upper  part  of  the  jail,  the  offi 
cer  soon  appeared,  and  hearing  with  surprise  our  mission, 
he  locked  me  up  with  Jo  at  my  own  request,  as  I  desired 
to  spend  the  night  with  him.  A  few  moments  later  his 
establishment  was  astir,  and  in  half  an  hour  we  heard  a 
posse  start  off  in  a  wagon,  which  rattled  and  jolted  in  a 
frightful  manner,  to  bring  in  the  body.  The  news  seemed 
to  spread  rapidly,  for  by  climbing  up  at  the  grated  window  I 
saw  lights  in  several  directions  where  there  were  none  be 
fore,  and  two  or  three  carious  people  had  already  appeared 
A  the  yard. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

THE  TWIN  MOUNDS  JAIL. 

PT11IERE  had  never  been  a  murder  in  Fairview  before,  01 
-L  the  sight  of  a  man  who  had  died  a  violent  death,  and 
when  I  looked  out  of  the  grated  windows  a  few  hours  after 
midday  —  for  we  both  slept  long  and  soundly  once  we 
were  in  the  hard  and  cheerless  prison  beds  —  I  saw  that 
the  news  had  spread  rapidly,  for  the  town  was  already  full 
of  people,  curious  to  look  at  the  body  and  talk  of  the  tra 
gedy.  A  misty  rain  was  falling,  a  continuation  of  the 
storm  of  the  night  before,  and  a  fog  spread  over  the  town, 
and  a  crowd  of  people  was  collected  in  front  of  the  jail, 
looking  curiously  up  at  the  windows,  as  though  they  were 
likely  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  culprit.  When  one  of 
the  number  went  up  to  the  court-house,  his  place  in  tht 
mud  and  mire  in  front  of  the  jail  was  immediately  taken 
by  some  one  who  came  from  the  court-house,  and  I  sup 
posed  that  the  dead  man  was  on  exhibition  there.  I  scanned 
the  upturned  faces  eagerly  for  looks  of  sympathy  for  Jo,  for 
from  my  perch  I  could  look  into  them  without  being  seen 
but  I  could  only  make  out  that  the  people  were  no  more  than 
curious.  Occasionally  a  knot  of  men  gathered  about  one 
of  their  number  while  he  expressed  an  opinion,  and  though 
I  could  not  hear  all  that  was  said,  I  distinguished  enough 
to  convince  me  that  there  was  no  regret  that  Clinton  Bragg 
was  dead. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  I  left  the  jail  by  the  entrance  used 
by  tr<?  sheriffs  family,  without  attracting  attention,  and 
888 


THE  CURIOUS  CKOWIX  869 

went  into  the  court-house,  where  the  body  was  on  exhibi 
tion.  The  crowd  then  present  did  not  know  my  relation 
to  Jo,  with  which  circumstance  I  was  pleased,  and  I  looked 
at  the  sight  as  any  other  idler  would.  He  was  lying  in 
the  middle  of  the  assembly  room,  on  a  wide  plank,  and  I 
judged  the  coroner's  jury  had  not  yet  assemble*!,  for  it 
was  still  in  the  condition  in  which  it  was  found. 

The  clothing  was  wet  from  lying  out  in  the  rain,  and  I 
was  certain  the  face  retained  the  expression  it  wore  when 
I  had  passed  it  in  the  woods,  for  it  was  horrible  to  look  at. 
A  livid  mark  ran  round  the  neck,  showing  the  prints  of  fin 
gers  ;  the  tongue  protruded  from  the  mouth,  and  the  eyes 
started  from  their  sockets,  precisely  as  would  have  been 
the  case  had  Clinton  Bragg  been  hanged,  and  altogethei 
the  sight  was  so  horrible  that  I  wondered  the  people  did 
not  leave  it  in  terror,  as  I  did,  and  hurry  away,  for  the 
sight  made  me  sick  and  faint.  But  the  people  continued 
to  arrive  by  every  road,  and  hurry  to  the  court-house,  and 
then  to  the  jail,  to  look  up  curiously  at  the  windows,  and 
I  was  so  anxious  to  avoid  them  and  their  questions  that, 
after  a  few  minutes  with  Martin,  I  hurried  back  to  the 
jail,  and  was  again  admitted,  where  I  found  Jo  still  lying 
about  in  his  night-clothes,  apparently  very  comfortable  and 
unconcerned.  He  had  been  asleep  most  of  the  day,  loung 
ing  about  in  an  easy  way  precisely  as  I  have  since  known 
men  to  do  who  spent  a  rainy  Sunday  in  their  rooms.  The 
fierce  manner  which  had  distinguished  him  the  night  be 
fore  was  gone,  and  in  its  place  was  a  sort  of  contentment 
that  was  very  surprising  under  the  circumstances.  He 
bad  but  little  to  say,  making  no  inquiries,  when  I  returned, 
as  to  where  I  had  been,  and,  a  short  time  after  the  lamps 
were  brought  in  for  the  night,  he  excused  himself,  and  ly 
ing  down  on  his  cot  went  to  sleep,  after  pleasantTy  wishing 
me  good-night. 


370  THE  STORY  OF  A   COUNTRY  TOWN. 

The  main  road  leading  toward  the  Fair  view  country  nu, 
past  the  outer  wall  of  the  jail,  a  part  of  it  being  built  on 
the  street  line,  and  for  hours  I  heard  the  wagons  rattling 
past,  filled  with  crowds  of  men  returning  home,  who  were 
§itting  close  together  and  talking  in  low  tones.  I  turned 
down  the  light,  and,  climbing  up  to  the  single  window 
which  looked  that  way,  watched  them,  and  tried  to  con 
jecture  what  the  verdict  would  be,  but  their  curiosity  was 
satisfied,  and  they  were  now  only  intent  on  getting  home 
and  repeating  the  story  to  others,  who  would  in  turn  re 
peat  it,  and  spread  the  news  through  the  woods,  over  the 
prairies,  and  into  the  valleys,  where  it  would  be  talked  of 
and  wondered  at,  and  be  voted  the  greatest  wonder,  and 
the  greatest  horror,  that  ever  had  happened. 

The  coroner  and  a  jury  examined  the  body  the  next 
day,  and  when  it  was  learned  that  the  only  witness  of  the 
affray  was  very  ill,  it  was  agreed  to  adjourn  the  inquest 
until  a  time  when  she  was  better,  and  Clinton  Bragg  was 
buried  in  a  grave  which  was  at  first  thought  to  be  tem 
porary,  but  it  proved  his  final  resting  place,  as  the  remains 
were  never  disturbed. 

At  Jo's  earnest  request — it  was  the  rule  anyway,  J 
believe  —  the  jailer  allowed  none  of  the  curious  to  pee 
him,  and  after  he  was  locked  up  I  slept  there  every  night. 
Fortunately  there  were  only  a  few  petty  offenders  in  the 
jail,  which  gave  us  an  entire  room  to  ourselves,  and  bring 
ing  in  furniture  and  beds  from  the  house,  I  made  the 
place  as  comfortable  as  possible.  I  covered  the  walla 
with  pictures,  and  scarcely  a  day  passed  that  something 
was  not  left  with  me  for  the  prisoner.  The  sheriff  being 
a  kindly  man,  and  an  old  friend  of  ours,  he  trusted  me 
fully,  so  that  had  I  been  disposed  I  could  have  easily 
released  Jo,  or  furnished  him  means  of  escape. 

I  have  thought  that  the  sheriff  often  looked  at  me  ii 


SLEEP  AND  REST.  871 

lurprise  that  I  did  not  take  advantage  of  the  liberty  given 
me,  and  get  him  away,  and  he  often  went  into  the  cell 
himself  to  talk  cheerfully  and  hopefully.  In  many  of  the 
packages  sent  me  were  fire-arms,  drills,  files,  and  chisels, 
as  well  a«  little  articles  of  comfort,  and  in  almost  every 
one  notes  written  in  heavy  hands  saying  that  no  harm 
should  come  to  Jo,  but  we  handed  these  over  to  the  officer 
in  return  for  his  kindness,  who  good-naturedly  guessed 
with  us  who  sent  them. 

Jo  seemed  to  be  more  contented  than  since  the  night 
he  came  to  me  with  the  fatal  letter,  and  spent  his  days  in 
reading,  and  lounging  about.  I  thought  of  him  as  a  man 
taking  a  long-contemplated  rest  from  weary  work,  and  aa 
one  who  thoroughly  enjoyed  his  ease.  Although  there 
was  always  something  of  sadness  in  his  manner,  he  was 
more  like  himself  than  since  we  were  boys,  and  we  spent 
our  evenings  so  pleasantly  together  that  I  often  regretted 
that  we  could  not  have  been  as  contented  as  we  were 
without  the  commission  of  so  great  a  crime. 

Before  he  went  to  prison  he  was  unable  to  sleep  at 
night,  but  now  he  retired  to  his  bed  early,  and  slept 
soundly.  Indeed,  frequently  he  did  not  waken  until  the 
middle  of  the  day,  as  if  he  were  making  up  for  lost  time, 
and  often  spoke  thankfully  of  the  circumstance  that  he 
could  enjoy  his  rest  again,  as  he  did  when  a  boy.  Ilia 
manner  was  so  gentle  that  I  thought  of  him  as  one  who 
had  been  purified  by  great  suffering,  and  if  I  had  loved 
him  before,  in  his  misfortune  and  danger  I  loved  him  a 
thousand  times  more.  After  he  had  gone  to  sleep  at 
night,  it  was  my  custom  to  toss  about  for  a  long  while, 
thinking  how  we  could  avoid  the  consequences  of  hia 
crime,  and,  after  a  troubled  night,  get  up  early  in  the 
morning  to  talk  over  and  over  again  with  those  I  had 
employed  to  advise  me5  for  Jo  would  not  see  them.  They 


872  THE  STORY  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

had  the  greatest  hope,  and  took  unusual  interest  in  thi 
case,  and  I  understood  their  policy  would  be  to  delay  a 
trial  as  long  as  possible,  when  opportunities  for  his  release 
would  be  plentiful  enough.  When  they  were  finally 
forced  to  trial,  they  could  at  least  secure  a  jury  that 
would  fail  to  agree,  and  as  no  one  had  seen  the  murder, 
they  hoped  to  be  able  to  establish  that  Bragg  had  fallen 
out  of  his  buggy  in  fright  when  Jo  appeared  before  him, 
thus  permitting  the  wheels  to  run  across  his  neck. 

Damon  Barker  came  to  town  on  the  second  afternoon 
following  the  murder,  accompanied  by  Big  Adam,  who  car 
ried  an  immense  club  of  green  hickory  witli  a  knot  on  the 
end,  as  though  he  expected  a  few  friends  would  attack  the 
jail  and  release  the  prisoner,  and  during  the  grave  inter 
view  between  his  master  and  myself,  he  kept  critically 
examining  the  club,  squinting  along  it  to  see  if  it  were 
properly  proportioned,  or  hefting  it  from  the  little  end. 
With  a  piece  of  chalk  he  marked  out  a  rude  figure  of  a 
man  on  the  wall,  and  after  writing  "  Officer "  over  it  in 
great  capital  letters,  he  stood  off,  and  measured  the  dis 
tance  he  would  have  to  stand  from  it  in  order  to  do 
effective  service  with  his  club.  After  this  point  was 
settled,  he  calculated  by  experiment  where  a  man  of  the 
size  of  the  figure  could  be  injured  most  by  striking,  and 
having  decided  that  the  head  was  the  place,  he  made  an 
X  with  the  chalk  at  the  point  selected,  and  practised  until 
he  could  hit  that  spot  every  time.  He  did  this  with  so 
much  seriousness,  and  we  were  all  so  serious  that  day, 
that  we  paid  little  attention  to  him.  When  Barker  in« 
quired  what  time  he  could  see  Jo,  and  I  answered  "  To 
night,*  Big  Adam  said,  in  a  voice  hoarser  than  msual, 
"  The  earlier  the  better,  and  let  those  whe  stand  in  the 
way  look  out  for  their  heads ! "  at  the  same  time  omin- 
tusly  ahaking  his  stick  of  hickory.  When  informed  that 


MtTBDEHED 

theie  was  to  be  no  rescue,  he  was  very  much  disappointed 
and  was  silent  the  remainder  of  tie  day. 

Barker  was  never  a  man  of  words,  and  he  expressed  no 
opinion  about  the  matter,  although  he  frequently  said  that 
at  any  time  I  needed  him,  I  had  only  to  say  the  word,  no 
matto?:  what  the  service  might  be.  If  he  was  at  a  loss  to 
understand  the  difference  between  Jo's  case  and  his  own* 
he  did  not  mention  it,  and  held  his  peace.  When  he  went 
to  the  prison  to  see  Jo  in  the  evening,  I  thought  his  word 
of  greeting  was  almost  a  sob,  as  I  remember  him  on  the 
night  he  came  to  claim  Agnes,  but  he  soon  recovered 
himself,  and  we  spent  the  evening  quite  pleasantly.  Big 
Adam,  who  accompanied  us,  spent  his  time  in  critically 
examining  the  bars  at  the  windows,  and  in  testing  their 
strength,  and  he  apparently  became  convinced  that  there 
was  little  hope  in  that  direction,  and  that  the  only  thing 
to  do  was  to  storm  it  from  the  outside.  During  the 
evening  he  wrote  a  note  and  asked  me  to  deliver  it  to  the 
sheriff,  and  after  he  went  away  I  looked  at  it.  It  began, 
"  My  opinion  of  the  officer,"  followed  by  the  largest  num 
ber  of  blasphemous  words  I  have  ever  seen  collected, 
though  they  had  no  reference  to  each  other,  every  one 
being  complete  in  itself,  as  an  expression  of  hate.  There 
were  also  a  great  many  vile  words  mixed  in  with  the 
blasphemous  ones,  and  at  the  bottom  he  signed  his  name 
in  full,  whereby  I  came  into  possession  of  the  fact  that  his 
full  name  was  John  Adam  Casebolt. 

At  this  time  I  cannot  remember  how  long  it  was  before 
Bragg's  father  came,  but  within  an  hour  after  his  arrival 
he  walked  quietly  into  the  office,  and,  after  waiting  my 
pleasure,  asked  me  to  tell  the  story  of  his  son's  death. 
He  was  a  distressed  sort  of  a  man,  as  though  he  had  had 
a  great  deal  of  trouble  in  his  life,  and  I  honestly  tr  ted  tfl 
teU  tlie  circumstances  of  the  death  without  prejudice 


874  THE  STOBY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

Of  Bragg's  systematic  persecution  of  Jo;  of  his  aim  leaf 
excursions  past  his  house;  of  his  insolence  and  over* 
bearance,  I  spoke  at  considerable  length,  and  detailed 
numerous  instances  when  I  knew  he  had  passed  the  mill 
at  midnight,  though  he  had  not  been  at  the  Shepherds'. 
I  told  him  of  his  son's  renewed  attentions  after  the  separa 
tion,  though  he  had  been  the  cause  of  it,  and  I  expressed 
the  opinion  that  he  had  brought  about  the  marriage,  not 
for  love  of  Mateel,  but  for  revenge  on  a  man  who  had 
never  harmed  him,  for  she  was  such  a  hopeless  invalid 
that  marriage  with  any  one  was  the  merest  farce. 

He  made  no  replies  to  anything  I  said,  but  occasionally 
asked  a  question  to  make  a  point  clearer,  and  when  I  had 
finished,  he  thanked  me  for  my  trouble,  and  went  out, 
walking  past  the  jail  on  his  way  back  to  the  hotel,  and  1 
thought  he  peered  curiously  up  at  the  windows,  as  if  he 
were  anxious  to  see  Jo. 

I  saw  him  a  great  deal  after  that,  and  knew  that  he  was 
in  consultation  with  an  attorney,  but  he  talked  to  no  one 
else.  After  remaining  two  or  three  weeks,  he  quietly 
disappeared,  and  it  was  learned  that  fee  had  returned 
home,  leaving  his  case  in  the  hands  of  the  public  prose 
cutor. 

When  I  told  Jo  of  my  strange  visitor,  he  was  much 
interested,  and  referred  to  him  as  a  "  poor  fellow,"  saying 
it  was  too  bad  that  he  had  travelled  so  far  on  such  a  sad 
journey.  He  inquired  carefully  after  his  personal  appear 
ance,  his  manners,  etc.,  and  I  almost  expected  that  he 
would  ask  that  he  be  invited  to  see  him. 

It  was  my  custom  to  leave  the  prison  at  an  early  hour 
in  the  morning  and  not  return  again  until  night,  except 
to  call  cheerfully  to  Jo  as  1  passed  that  way,  but  I  alwayi 
•pent  my  evenings  with  him,  and  greatly  enjoyed  them 
because  we  were  never  Disturbed. 


HELP!  i  AM  LOST/  375 

When  I  came  round  to  be  admitted,  Jo  was  always 
waiting  for  me,  and  one  evening,  when  he  had  been  un 
usually  thoughtful,  he  said  to  me  :  — 

"  You  remember  I  told  you  once  of  the  haunted  cave 
where  the  people  went,  and  heard  the  sweetest  strains  of 
music,  but  which  was  soon  broken  into  by  a  hideous 
tumult.  I  often  visit  the  place  now  in  my  dreams,  or  in 
my  fancy,  and  it  has  a  new  attraction  :  Some  one  is  lost 
there,  and  there  is  no  hope  of  a  rescue.  This  is  such  a 
lonely  place  that  sometimes  when  I  lie  here  through  the 
day  waiting  for  you,  I  visit  the  place  when  I  am  awake. 
I  am  very  familiar  with  the  rugged  path  which  leads 
through  the  dark  ravine  to  its  mouth,  and  when  the  day 
is  bad  I  never  fail  to  go.  Although  it  is  horrible,  there  is 
a  certain  fascination  about  it  I  am  unable  to  resist. 

"  When  last  I  visited  it,  I  did  not  hear  the  music  at  all, 
but  instead  some  one  crying,  which  was  drowned  by  the 
usual  tumult.  When  this  had  subsided,  I  heard  the  same 
voice  distinctly  crying,  '  Help  !  help !  I  am  lost,'  which 
so  excited  me  that  I  awoke.  Since  then,  every  time  I 
fall  asleep  I  visit  the  cave,  and  after  sitting  a  long  while 
in  silence,  suddenly  I  hear  the  same  agonizing  cry, 
4  Help  !  help !  I  am  lost.'  Then  come  such  pitiful  sobs 
that  I  awake  again.  I  have  come  to  regard  the  man  lost 
in  the  cave  as  myself,  and  while  waiting  to  hear  him  call 
I  have  tried  to  invent  a  plan  for  his  rescue,  and  wondered 
if  you  and  Barker  would  not  help  me.  Perhaps  this  is  a 
premonition  of  my  future ;  it  may  be  that  after  I  am 
dead,  it  will  be  my  punishment  to  wander  in  a  dark  and 
gloomy  place,  unable  to  die,  but  forever  calling,  *  Help ! 
help !  I  am  icst.' 

"  I  have  thought,  too,  that  it  is  possible,  when  I  am  sick 
and  tired  from  wandering  about  and  calling  for  help, 
always  expecting  that  rescue  is  near  at  hand,  that  su<?- 


376  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUKTBY 

denly  a  light  so  great  as  to  dazzle  ray  poor  eyes  will 
appear ;  that  I  shall  be  permitted  to  see  a  beautiful  place, 
with  running  streams  and  shady  paths  under  the  trees, 
and  that  I  shall  realize  that  it  is  the  eternal  city. 

"  As  I  look,  Mateel  and  Bragg,  attired  in  raiment  befit* 
ting  their  new  condition,  will  appear,  happy  in  their 
perfected  love.  My  imprisonment  in  that  awful  place 
will  have  unmanned  me  so  much  that  I  shall  cry  to  them, 
'  Help !  help !  I  am  lost ! '  but  they  will  not  be  permitted 
to  hear,  and  when  I  stagger  toward  the  blessed  light,  the 
figures  will  disappear,  and  I  shall  fall  on  my  face  in  the 
darkness." 

He  always  talked  of  the  cave  and  the  vision  in  such  a 
mournful,  hopeless  way,  that  it  greatly  affected  me,  but 
he  would  soon  rally,  and  become  cheerful  again,  as  though 
I  had  a  right  to  expect  that  of  him  in  return  for  my  atten 
tion.  He  talked  in  this  strain  a  great  deal,  and  seemed 
to  take  more  interest  in  it  than  in  anything  else,  or  it  may 
have  been  a  fascination  which  he  could  not  avoid.  Every 
evening  when  I  came  in  he  had  a  new  experience  with 
the  cave  or  the  vision  to  relate,  and  I  shudder  yet  when 
I  remember  his  descriptions  of  the  man  who  was  always 
wandering  in  the  dark  and  awful  place  his  fancy  had 
created,  and  who  was  always  calling  for  help  which  never 
came. 

Although  he  was  as  much  a  mystery  to  me  as  ever,  I  never 
looked  at  him  that  I  could  not  see  his  love  for  me.  I  did 
no  more  for  him  than  anyone  would  have  done  under  the 
same  circumstances,  but  he  talked  about  it  a  great  deal, 
and  expressed  bis  gratitude  that  he  had  one  friend  in  the 
world,  in  spite  of  his  disgrace  and  crime. 

Very  often  I  assured  him  of  the  pleasure  it  gave  me  to 
be  of  service  to  him,  and  the  keen  regrets  I  felt  that  1 
could  not  do  more,  and  at  these  times  he  turned  his  heatf 


A  CREDIT  INSTEAD   OF  A  DISGRACE.  377 

•way,  and  I  believed  that  tears  were  in  his  eyes.  I  can 
never  explain  the  sympathy  and  affection  I  felt  for  him 
while  he  was  in  prison,  for,  knowing  him  as  I  did,  I  could 
not  heip  feeling  that  he  was  justified,  and  when  I  saw 
that  he  took  no  interest  in  the  plans  I  proposed  for  his 
escaping  the  consequences,  hope  died  within  me,  and  I  felt 
that  when  the  time  came,  he  would  acknowledge  his 
guilt,  and  ask  me  as  his  last  request  to  attend  him  on  the 
scaffold.  Further  than  his  remark  that  he  would  give  his 
own  life  for  the  one  he  had  taken,  he  but  barely  men 
tioned  the  tragedy  in  any  way,  and  seemed  only  to  be 
waiting  to  keep  his  oath. 

Inasmuch  as  the  coroner's  jury  had  not  yet  assembled 
to  listen  to  evidence  in  the  case,  the  only  witness  being 
too  ill  to  attend,  I  could  not  conjecture  what  course  he 
would  adopt  when  called  upon  to  express  himself,  and  I 
was  afraid  to  ask  him.  He  would  not  see  the  attorneys 
I  had  selected  to  advise  me,  saying  in  excuse  that  he  was 
not  ready,  or  that  whatever  I  did  represented  him,  so  that 
I  seemed  to  be  the  culprit  rather  than  Jo,  for  I  worried 
more  about  it,  and  was  oftener  in  despair. 

Only  once  during  his  confinement  did  he  refer  to  the 
causes  leading  to  the  tragedy  in  the  woods.  I  had  been 
reading  to  him  until  far  into  the  night,  with  the  light  be 
tween  us  as  we  lay  on  the  rough  prison  cots,  when  he 
Interrupted  me  by  inquiring :  — 

"  Are  you  quite  sure  that  you  fully  forgive  me  for  my 
desperate  crime  ?  " 

"Yes,  Jo." 

"  I  might  have  been  a  credit  to  you  instead  of  a  disgrace 
nad  I  acted  differently,"  he  said,  turning  on  his  side  to 
look  at  me.  "  When  you  were  reading  just  now  I  thought 
of  the  afternoon  in  Fairview  when  we  went  out  to  the  hay 
loft  to  talk  of  our  future,  after  it  was  announced  that  I  wai 


873  THE  STORY   OF  A  COUNTKY  TOWN. 

to  go  to  Damon  Barker's  to  live,  and  I  thought  that  whil« 
we  have  turned  out  very  much  as  we  hoped  we  should, 
you  were  brave  and  patient  in  your  sorrow,  while  I  waa 
utterly  cast  down  by  mine  and  ruined.  Do  you  forgive 
me  for  that?" 

"  Yes,  Jo ;  everything.  T  love  you  go  much  that  I  can 
not  think  of  your  faults." 

He  turned  on  his  back  again,  and  remained  quiet  so  long 
that  I,  too,  thought  of  the  Sunday  afternoon  in  Fairview, 
and  of  what  he  had  said.  Jo  was  evidently  thinking  of 
the  same  thing,  for  at  last  he  continued :  — 

"  I  remember  of  your  mother  saying  to  me  once  that 
she  believed  you  and  I  would  grow  up  into  brave  and  hon 
orable  men ;  men  who  would  love  their  wives  and  children 
instead  of  treating  them  as  they  were  treated  in  Fairview, 
and  I  feel  very  guilty  now  that  I  realize  that  she  was  mis 
taken  in  her  opinion  of  me.  It  would  have  been  genuine 
braverj7  had  I  conquered  my  horror  of  the  letter,  my  hate 
for  Clinton  Bragg,  and  made  Mateel  love  me  in  spite  of 
everything ;  but  I  did  not  know  what  the  word  meant  then, 
though  I  do  now,  and  your  mother  probably  meant  some 
thing  like  that.  My  boyhood  was  so  wretched  that  I  ex 
pected  relief  from  wretchedness  when  I  was  married,  but 
perhaps  I  should  have  known  that  unhappiness  attends 
every  condition  in  life,  and  that  bravery  and  nobility  con 
sists  in  forgiving  and  forgetting,  together  with  gentleness 
and  capacity.  My  life  has  been  one  long  mistake ;  I  should 
think  you  would  find  it  hard  to  forgive  that,  after  expect 
ing  so  much  of  me." 

"  No,  Jo ;  not  at  all  hard.  If  you  are  entitled  to  char 
ity  from  me,  I  gave  it  without  knowing  it,  for  I  cnly  thlnlr 
of  yon  to  regret  that  a  man  so  worthy  has  been  BO  unfor 
tonate.  I  never  reproached  you  in  my  life." 

"Although  I  believe  you  forgive  me  fully,"  he  contio 


RETROSPECTION.  379 

aed,  "  I  oannot  forgive  myself,  though  I  confess  my  weak* 
aess,  and  say  that  I  always  did  the  best  I  could.  I  con 
quered  everything  except  shame  over  the  contents  of  the 
letter  and  hate  at  the  sight  of  Bragg.  These  dragged  me 
down  as  discontent  dragged  John  Westlock  down ;  per- 
haps  any  man  could  be  ruined  if  attacked  at  the  right 
place." 

"Wiser  men  than  you,  Jo,  are  of  that  opinion,  and  I 
regarded  it  as  the  most  eloquent  defence  he  had  ever  made. 
Those  who  believe  in  their  own  strength  have  great  char 
ity  for  themselves  and  none  at  all  for  others,  but  those  of 
us  who  are  more  candid,  and  learned  in  the  world's  affairs, 
acknowledge  our  own  weakness  in  admitting  the  weakness 
of  others. 

"  I  am  satisfied  now  that  I  made  a  mistake  in  thinking  of 
love  as  it  should  be,  not  as  it  really  is,  and  I  unwisely  built 
on  that  foundation,  but  I  blame  no  one  for  it ;  a  man  who 
Is  ignorant  should  submit  to  the  penalties  without  com 
plaint.  But  I  shall  always  think  that  I  should  have  been 
very  contented  had  it  turned  out  as  I  expected ;  I  shall 
always  justify  myself  with  the  belief  that  had  Mateel 
brought  as  much  enthusiasm  into  our  marriage  contract  as 
I  did,  we  should  have  been  of  great  use  to  each  other.  I 
hope  you  will  not  think  hard  of  me  if  I  say  that  she  had 
the  experience  which  I  should  have  had,  while  I  had  the 
innocence  and  faith  in  marriage  which  a  w,ife  should  pos 
sess." 

He  had  little  to  say  after  that,  and  tossed  about  uneasily 
iu  his  bed  after  I  put  out  the  light,  which  was  unusual,  for 
I  had  frequently  remarked  with  surprise  that  he  slept  well 
in  the  jail,  and  seemed  greatly  refreshed  by  it.  Perhaps  he 
nad  never  permitted  himself  to  think  of  his  wife  until 
that  erening  since  he  had  struggled  with  Bragg  in  the 
,  and  the  indiscretion  had  brought  on  his  old  trou 


380  THIS  8TOEY  OX  A  COTJHTBY 

ble,  for  if  I  dozed  off,  and  wakened  again,  I  found  hlrt 
pacing  up  and  down  the  floor,  as  he  had  done  so  main 
nights  in  the  house  at  the  mill  when  he  lived  alone  in  it. 
As  I  watched  him  I  tried  to  compute  the  number  of  weary 
miles  he  had  travelled  in  this  manner  since  the  separation ; 
up  and  down,  from  the  right  to  the  left,  carrying  his  aching 
and  troubled  head,  which  refused  him  peace  night  and  day ; 
thinking,  thinking,  thinking ;  up  and  down  from  the  right 
to  the  left ;  so  the  long  road  was  travelled,  growing  more 
painful  and  difficult  every  day.  I  followed  the  road  he  had 
been  travelling  to  where  it  ended  and  encountered  a  jail, 
in  which  Jo  Erring's  hope  and  ambition,  the  pride  and 
comfort  of  my  boyhood,  were  locked  up,  with  my  old 
friend,  changed  but  little,  pacing  wearily  up  and  down  to 
see  that  there  was  no  escape.  Oh,  Jo,  my  dearest  friend, 
is  there  nothing  I  can  do  to  lighten  your  sorrow  ?  Must  I 
watch  you  travelling  a  road  which  grows  more  suggestive 
of  the  damp  of  graves  with  every  day's  journey  without 
putting  out  a  hand  to  help  you?  Will  you  continue  to 
put  me  off  with  no  other  reply  than  tears  when  I  offer  to 
help  you  until  we  enter  the  churchyard  together,  and  I 
come  out  alone  ? 

Getting  up  from  my  bed,  I  joined  him  in  the  walk,  put 
ting  my  arm  through  his,  and  as  we  paced  up  and  down, 
encountering  a  cruel  stone  wall  at  every  turn,  I  bitterly  ac 
cused  myself  that  I  had  not  been  with  him  more  during  his 
trouble,  but  when  I  mentioned  it  I  knew  that  he  believed 
I  had  done  all  I  could,  though  he  did  not  speak  a  word, 
and  I  could  not  see  his  face ;  I  knew  it,  though  I  did  not 
know  why.  Up  and  down,  from  the  right  to  the  left ;  I 
thought  half  the  night  had  passed  before  he  returned  to  his 
bed,  and  even  then  I  was  convinced  that  he  ceased  walk 
ing  more  out  of  consideration  for  me  than  because  he 
wag  tired.  When  the  first  rays  of  morning  light  camf 


LOOKING  TOWAEDS  THE  OLD  HOME.  381 

itraggling  into  the  dismal  place  I  wakened  again,  but  Jo 
was  not  in  bed ;  he  had  climbed  up  to  the  grated  window, 
and  was  looking  out  in  the  direction  of  Fairview,  motion 
less  as  a  statue.  What  was  in  his  mind  will  never  be 
known,  but  I  have  always  believed  that  it  was  a  longing 
to  see  his  wife  and  the  house  at  the  mill.  I  fell  into  £ 
light  sleep  again,  and  when  it  was  broad  daylight,  he  was 
still  looking  longingly  toward  Fairview,  the  little  world 
in  which  his  simple  life  had  been  passed ;  where  he  had 
ereated  and  destroyed,  and  where  he  hoped  to  find  rest  at 
last  in  the  shadow  of  the  old  church. 


CHAPTER  XXXm. 

REAPING  THE  WHIRLWIND. 

AFRAID  to  trust  my  own  judgment  with  reference 
to  Jo,  whom  I  always  thought  of  now  as  standing 
in  the  shadow  of  a  scaffold,  about  four  weeks  after  he 
went  to  jail,  I  resolved  to  visit  the  mill  on  Bull  River 
and  solicit  Damon  Barker's  advice,  which  I  knew  would 
be  friendly  and  sensible.  He  was  a  man  of  excellent 
judgment,  and  though  he  had  been  to  Twin  Mounds  but 
once  since  the  trouble,  I  knew  he  was  ready  at  any  time 
to  aid  Jo,  as  he  had  said,  no  difference  what  necessity 
might  require,  and  that  he  was  only  waiting  a  summons, 
trusting  to  me  to  bring  it.  I  felt  sure  that  Jo's  intention 
was  to  admit  his  guilt  when  called  upon,  and  suffer  the 
penalty,  and  I  was  not  satisfied  that  I  had  done  enough 
to  dissuade  him  from  the  intention.  Barker  had  great 
influence  with  him,  and  for  this  reason  I  sought  his  coun 
sel  and  advice. 

I  intended  to  start  in  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  hop 
ing  to  reach  the  mill  by  nightfall,  and  return  early  the 
next  day,  and  an  hour  before  my  departure  I  went  into 
the  jail  to  announce  to  Jo  that  I  would  be  away  during 
'Jie  night.  It  was  the  first  night  I  had  been  out  of  hia 
company  since  his  confinement  in  the  prison,  and  I  was 
therefore  surprised  that  he  seemed  rather  pleased  with 
the  prospect,  though  he  apologized  for  H  by  saying  that 
I  Lad  been  there  so  long  that  I  would  enjoy  a  night  out 
He  seemed  to  know  that  I  was  going  to  Barker's  to  tallt 


JO  8  PLAN  OF  ESCAPE.  883 

about  him,  for  he  asked  me  to  thank  him  and  Agnes  for 
any  good  they  might  find  it  in  their  hearts  to  say  of  him ; 
and  he  said  over  and  over  again  how  kind  we  all  were, 
and  how  much  trouble  we  had  been  to  on  his  account. 

"  You  must  not  go  away  feeling  down  at  heart,  or  ill 
at  ease,  but  cheerful,"  he  said,  when  I  confessed  that  I 
was  going  to  Barker's  in  his  behalf.  "I  will  tell  you 
fcomething  that  will  please  you.  I  have  studied  over  thia 
matter  a  great  deal  during  the  past  few  weeks,  and  have 
come  to  a  conclusion  that  will  relieve  us  all.  I  will  only 
say  now  that  it  will  end  all  confusion  and  worry,  and  that 
it  is  the  very  best  thing  that  can  be  done.  I  know  that 
you  have  confidence  in  my  judgment,  and  will  be  content 
to  wait  until  you  return,  when  you  shall  know  all.  It  is 
not  a  plan  that  will  cause  you  more  trouble,  but  one  that 
will  be  a  relief  to  you,  therefore  be  as  happy  as  you  can 
while  away,  and  carry  my  kindest  wishes  to  Agnes  and 
her  father.  Tell  them  that  I  am  well,  and  that  in  a  little 
while  we  shall  be  through  worrying  over  this  matter,  for 
I  have  hit  upon  a  plan  to  relieve  us  of  it.  It  is  sure  to 
work,  tell  them,  and  that  they  need  not  fear  as  to  that. 
I  may  say  it  is  the  only  thing  that  can  be  done,  which  you 
will  be  glad  to  hear,  for  it  is  sometimes  hard  to  hit  upon 
fehe  right  plan,  but  after  a  great  deal  of  thought  I  have  it. 
You  feel  better  now,  do  you  not  ?  " 

I  answered  him  that  I  did,  which  was  the  case,  for  I 
believed  that  while  I  was  away  during  the  day  he  waa 
thinking,  and  hoped  that  he  had  hit  upon  something  that 
would  meet  with  the  approval  of  all  his  friends.  Prob 
ably  it  was  an  escape,  and  a  life  in  some  distant  country, 
where  I  would  join  him  in  course  of  time,  or  perhaps  a 
plea  of  self-defence,  backed  by  circumstances  of  which  I 
knew  Eothing,  but  at  any  rate  I  was  sure  the  plan  was  a 
good  one,  for  Jo  did  not  often  make  mistakes  in  suci 


884  TlfES  STORY  OF  A  COUNTliY  TOWN. 

matters,  and  I  felt  a  relief  of  which  I  was  greatly  in  need 
I  determined  at  once  to  bring  Barker  back  with  me  to 
hear  the  plan,  and  aid  in  its  execution. 

"  You  look  happier  to-day,"  he  said,  taking  both  my 
hands  in  his  own,  "  than  I  have  seen  you  in  a  long  while, 
I  am  very  glad  of  that,  and  I  hope  I,  too,  look  pleasant^ 
for  I  am  sure  the  plan  is  a  good  one.  Do  I  not  look  much 
as  I  did  when  we  were  happy  boys  together ;  when  I  wag 
your  good  friend,  and  loved  you  more  than  any  one  else 
in  the  world  ?  Look  at  me  and  answer." 

I  did  as  he  requested,  and  saw  that  there  was  the  old 
cheerfulness  in  his  smile,  as  there  had  been  the  old  ten- 
ierness  in  his  voice. 

"  A  little  older,  and  a  little  paler,"  I  replied,  "  but  cer- 
cainly  you  look  more  natural  to  me  this  moment  than  you 
have  for  four  years.  And  you  look  more  like  my  old 
friend,  too ;  for  when  we  were  boys,  and  you  told  me  of 
your  friendship,  you  were  so  earnest  and  feeling  that 
tears  came  into  your  eyes.  There  are  tears  in  your  eyes 
now." 

He  did  not  brush  them  away,  as  I  expected  he  would, 
but  let  them  roll  down  his  cheeks  and  fall  to  the  floor. 

"  I  did  not  know  there  were  tears  in  my  eyes  until  you 
gpoke,"  he  said.  "  But  they  are  only  tears  of  gratitude 
that  I  am  permitted  to  have  one  friend  like  you." 

He  still  held  both  my  hands,  and  looked  at  me  in  such 
*  way  that  I  thought  he  was  thinking  he  had  a  bold  piecs 
of  work  to  demand  of  me  to  effect  his  release,  —  a  part 
of  his  plan,  —  and  that  I  would  undertake  it  without 
hesitating,  no  matter  what  the  risk,  as  I  would  have 
done. 

<fc  It  is  as  much  as  a  man  ought  to  expect  during  his  lifo 
to  realize  a  friendship  as  pure  and  unselfish  as  yours  haa 
always  been  for  me,  and  I  want  to  say  while  I  am  looking 


ALL  FOB  THE  BEST.  885 

Oi  your  eyes  —  please  do  not  say  it  is  nothing,  fcr  it  is  a 
great  deal  —  that  you  have  been  the  one  solace  of  a  very 
unhappy  man.  I  may  not  have  deserved  it,  but  it  haa 
been  given  to  me,  and  I  love  you  as  a  bad  man  ought  to 
'ove  a  good  wife  who  has  been  faithful  to  him  through 
all  his  misdeeds.  I  am  very  wicked,  and  have  a  wicked 
heart,  but  you  can  have  it  to  say  that  you  had  all  the  love 
there  was  in  one  man's  life.  All  the  tenderness  in  my 
rough  nature  has  been  given  to  you,  and  no  one  else  has 
ever  found  welcome  in  my  heart.  No  one,  not  even  my 
father  or  mother,  divided  my  affection  for  you.  It  is 
not  much,  but  it  is  all  I  have." 

I  assured  him  it  was  a  great  deal,  and  that  it  had  been 
a  comfort  to  me  from  the  day  I  began  to  remember. 

"  You  are  the  only  one  who  was  ever  thoughtful  or  kind 
to  me,  though  I  have  always  coveted  such  attention,"  he 
added.  "  I  suppose  I  deserved  all  the  neglect  I  have  re 
ceived  —  I  hope  not,  but  I  cannot  think  anything  else  — 
and  you  brought  the  only  ray  of  genuine  sunshine  that 
ever  found  its  way  into  my  desolate  heart ;  without  you 
I  should  have  been  friendless  all  my  life.  I  hope  I  could 
have  made  myself  worthy  of  friends  had  they  come  in  my 
fl^ay,  but  they  never  came,  and  I  have  had  no  other  object 
*n  life  than  to  deserve  your  good  opinion.  I  am  afraid  I 
can  never  repay  you,  but  I  am  very  thankful." 

He  was  very  earnest,  but  not  sad,  and  I  believed  he  was 
telling  me  this  because  when  I  came  back  there  would  be 
active  work  to  do,  and  a  long  separation,  and  when  I 
turned  again  to  call  the  keeper  to  release  me,  Jo  said  for 
me  to  remember  that  it  was  all  for  the  best. 

"All  for  the  best,  I  am  certain,"  I  replied. 

"And  do  I  look  cheerful  again,  as  though  I  felt  that 
tf hat  I  say  is  true  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  seen  a  pleasant  smile  on  your  face  before  IB 


586  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY   TOWN. 

a  long  while,"  I  said,  "  and  I  feel  greatly  encouraged.  I 
hope  my  recollection  of  you  will  always  be  as  you  appeal 
now."  There  was  a  mingled  look  of  bravery  and  tender 
ness  in  his  face  which  made  me  very  fond  of  him.  "  I  am 
sure  the  plan  is  a  good  one,  for  it  has  made  us  both  hap* 
pier  already." 

u  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  that,"  he  said,  putting  hk 
hand  through  the  little  wicket  to  bid  me  good-by,  when 
I  was  finally  in  the  corridor,  "  and  so  it  will  turn  out, 
But  even  if  it  did  not  meet  your  approval  at  first,  you 
would  not  upbraid  me,  or  think  less  of  me  than  you  do 
now?" 

"  No,  Jo,"  I  answered,  for  I  thought  that  if  ever  a  man 
was  justified  in  breaking  jail  and  hiding  away  in  a  place 
where  he  could  make  amends  for  his  mistakes,  he  was. 
"  I  could  not  think  less  of  you  than  I  do,  for  even  if  my 
judgment  should  not  accord  with  yours,  I  should  believe 
it  to  be  my  own  fault,  and  that  I  should  finally  discover 
that  you  were  right.  I  have  so  much  confidence  in  you 
that  I  am  sure  that  the  plan  is  a  good  one." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  that,"  he  repeated, "  and  so 
it  will  turn  out.  Good-by." 

How  his  hand  trembled  in  mine !  I  thought  it  was  joj 
over  the  prospect  of  once  more  being  free,  and  I  had  st 
much  confidence  in  the  friendship  of  the  sheriff,  who  stood 
beside  me,  that  I  had  a  mind  to  tell  him  that  Jo  had  at 
last  consented  to  take  advantage  of  the  opportunities  he 
delighted  to  give  him,  and  escape ;  I  was  so  pleased  with 
it  all  that  I  thought  I  must  talk  to  some  one,  but,  thinking 
better  of  it,  I  waved  my  hand  gayly  to  the  prisoner,  anil, 
passing  out  at  the  front  door,  was  goon  on  my  way  to 
Fairriew. 

As  I  drove  rapidly  along  the  familiar  road,  1  had  a  hun 
dred  pleasant  conjectures  of  the  morrow,  when  Jo  would 


6CUJEMES  FOJi  THE  FUTUBB.  887 

reveal  to  me  the  plan  by  which  he  was  to  be  free.  The 
ona  I  fixed  upon  and  took  most  pleasure  in  was  an  escape 
to  some  distant  country,  where  I  would  follow  him  in  a 
few  months,  and  where  we  should  live  happily  together 
the  remainder  of  our  lives.  There  was  a  rough  rugged 
Country  beyond  ours  where  hunted  men  went,  and  where 
jo  questions  were  asked,  and  I  thought  of  our  living  to- 
getlier  hi  a  cabin  on  a  mountain  side,  companions  in  toil 
and  peace.  I  thought  this  plan  might  make  it  necessary 
Cor  me  to  give  up  Agnes  for  a  while,  but  her  patience  I 
knew  was  great,  and  she  would  think  of  me  all  the  more 
kindly  for  the  sacrifice  I  had  made  for  love  of  Jo. 

He  had  said  there  was  nothing  else  to  do ;  that  surely 
meant  a  rapid  flight  to  the  mountains,  for  that  was  the 
speedy  and  the  certain  way  out  of  the  difficulty,  and  1 
almost  rejoiced  in  it,  for  I  determined  to  go  with  him  at 
once,  and  leave  my  affairs  to  be  settled  up  by  Barker,  who 
alone  should  know  of  my  whereabouts.  I  even  regarded 
it  as  a  prospect  of  a  happy  relief  from  my  weary  work, 
and  thought  that  while  Jo  would  say  it  wag  best  I  should 
remain,  and  settle  our  joint  affairs  in  person,  t  stoutly  de 
cided  to  go  with  him,  and  even  planned  how  to  get  ready 
money  for  the  purpose. 

These  thoughts  so  occupied  my  mind  that  I  was  sur 
prised  when  I  came  in  the  vicinity  of  the  mill,  and  also  by 
the  circumstance  that  it  was  growing  dark,  for  I  had  taken 
no  note  of  time.  As  was  usually  the  case  at  that  season 
of  the  year,  the  mill  was  in  operation  when  I  arrived  a 
h^Jf  hour  after  dark,  and,  hoping  to  find  Agnes  alone  in 
the  ho  i?e,  I  dismounted  at  the  side  gate  and  went  in. 
The  evening  being  pleasant,  tho  front  door  was  wide  open, 
and,  stepping  on  the  inside,  I  was  debating  whether  they 
were  not  all  down  at  the  mill,  when  Agnes  carne  out  and- 
ieuly  from  the  room,  and  stood  beside  me.  It  may  havt 


388  THE  STORY  OF   A  COUNTRY  TOW>. 

been  surprise  at  her  sudden  appearance,  but  without  think 
ing  what  I  did,  I  put  my  arms  about  her,  and  kissed  her. 

"  I  have  been  in  so  much  trouble  of  late,"  I  said,  stiJl 
holding  her  in  my  arms,  "  and  felt  your  absence  so  keenly, 
that  I  could  not  resist  the  temptation.  I  hope  you  will 
forgive  me ;  I  came  on  an  important  errand,  but  my  dis 
tress  has  made  me  brave,  and  I  cannot  help  showing  how 
much  I  love  you." 

She  was  perfectly  still,  looking  into  my  eyes,  and  1 
thought  that,  though  it  was  the  same  sweet  face,  it  wag 
different  from  what  it  had  ever  been  before ;  no  longer 
the  face  of  my  patient  friend,  but  the  face  of  my  sweet 
heart  —  a  picture  of  a  woman's  perfect  love. 

"  It  has  been  so  often  necessary  for  you  to  forgive  me 
—  I  always  made  so  many  mistakes,  while  you  were  sr 
womanly  —  that  you  will  forgive  me  once  more  for  de 
claring,  though  I  came  on  an  errand  in  poor  Jo's  behalf, 
that  I  have  loved  you  as  man  and  boy  for  eight  years ; 
that  you  have  been  so  necessary  to  me  that  I  could  not 
have  lived  but  for  the  hope  your  friendship  gave  me.  I 
have  never  been  able  to  show  you  how  dear  you  have 
been  to  me,  I  was  always  so  awkward,  but  I  show  you  my 
heart  now,  and  declare  what  I  may  not  have  acted,  that  I 
have  never  had  any  other  wish  to  live  than  that  I  might 
win  you." 

She  attempted  to  speak,  but  I  would  not  permit  it,  foi 
[  had  not  yet  finished. 

"  When  I  was  a  boy,  it  was  my  hope  of  the  future  to 
become  a  worthy  man,  and  prepare  a  home  for  homeless 
Agues,  who  was  always  my  friend,  no  matter  how  unde 
serving  I  was.  In  all  my  hard  life,  which  has  seemed  like 
a  night,  you  have  been  the  kindly  star  which  was  always 
ihining  and  bidding  me  hope.  When  your  father  came 
back  to  you,  I  feared  that  your  happiness  was  so  great 


A  PRETTY  BRIDK. 


I  could  never  again  add  to  it,  but  even  if  this  is  so, 
I  can  no  longer  keep  my  secret.  It  has  been  crying  out 
at  its  confinement  for  years,  and  I  must  tell  you  that  Z 
love  you." 

She  remained  silent  and  motionless  so  long  that  I  began 
to  fear  that  what  I  had  said  without  believing  was  really 
true;  that  she  was  so  happy  with  her  father  that  she 
would  never  leave  him,  and  that  she  was  framing  an 
answer  that  would  not  offend  me. 

"I  have  always  known,"  she  said  at  last,  "that  you 
loved  me,  and  have  always  believed  that  some  time  you 
would  come  to  me  and  declare  it,  just  as  you  have  to 
night.  It  was  my  only  wish  ungratified,  for  nothing  was 
lacking  besides  that  to  complete  my  happiness." 

I  pressed  her  closer  to  me,  and  for  the  first  time  in  a 
great  many  months  the  tears  came  into  my  eyes  until  I 
could  not  see  her.  During  all  the  trouble  at  Jo's  my  con 
cern  found  no  relief,  but  her  love  for  me  made  me  realize 
how  wretched  I  had  been,  and  in  spite  of  all  I  could  do 
the  tears  came  into  my  eyes.  I  tried  to  apologize  for  the 
weakness,  but  she  wiped  the  tears  away  so  tenderly  that 
I  thought  certainly  there  was  never  such  a  loving  touch 
as  hers,  and  blessed  her  for  the  hundredth  time.  I  led 
her  into  the  adjoining  room,  and  when  we  sat  down  by 
the  window,  and  opened  the  shutters,  I  saw  by  the  moon 
light  which  came  streaming  in  that  she  was  dressed  in 
white,  and  that  she  so  much  resembled  a  pretty  bridt*  that 
I  could  not  help  holding  her  off  from  me,  and  admiring 
her. 

"  You  remember  I  used  to  tell  you,"  Agnes  said,  "  that 
some  day  my  ship  would  come  in  after  a  stormy  voyage, 
tnd  bring  me  many  rich  gifts.  I  think  you  always  thought 
I  referred  to  my  father." 

I  acknowledged  that  I  did. 


890  THE  STORY  OF   A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

"  But  really  I  referred  to  your  coming  to  me,  and  tolling 
me  (aa  I  believed  you  would)  that  you  loved  me.  I  nevei 
had  a  hope  that  my  father  was  alive,  and  as  I  told  you 
about  my  ship  sailing  toward  me  when  you  were  but  a 
boy  —  I  was  but  a  girl  when  I  first  came  toFairvietv  —  I 
must  have  referred  to  you,  as  I  certainly  did." 

She  was  sitting  near  an  open  piano,  and  lightly  touch 
ing  the  keys,  I  recognized  the  air  of  an  old  love  song  she 
had  taught  me  the  first  year  of  our  acquaintance,  "In 
flattering  dreams  I  dreamed  tliee  mine." 

"  We  were  both  so  wretched  during  the  first  years  of 
our  acquaintance,"  Agnes  said,  "  that  I  sometimes  feared 
we  must  always  remain  apart,  but  I  never  for  a  moment 
thought  you  did  not  love  me.  I  always  knew  it,  and  was 
constantly  trying  to  deserve  it.  If  I  heard  of  you  in  a 
creditable  connection,  I  was  pleased,  and  strived  harder 
than  ever,  and  there  never  was  a  doubt  but  that  you 
would  come  to  me  —  some  time ;  I  did  not  know  when  — 
and  tell  me  what  you  have  told  me  to-night.  I  have 
nothing  to  wish  for  now  except  that  I  may  be  long  spared 
to  show  you  how  much  I  love  you  for  it." 

We  must  have  been  very  happy  during  the  hour  01 
more  we  sat  by  the  window,  for  during  that  time  I  did 
not  once  think  of  Jo,  nor  should  I  have  thought  of  him 
for  a  much  longer  time  had  not  Barker's  step  on  the  walk 
aroused  me. 

We  both  went  out  to  meet  him  —  he  had  finished  hii 
work,  and  was  coming  to  the  house  for  the  night  —  amd, 
frightened  at  my  neglect,  I  hurriedly  ran  over  what  I  came 
to  gay.  He  looked  at  me  in  grave  surprise,  and,  leading 
me  back  to  the  room,  asked  me  to  repeat  what  I  had  said. 

1  then  told  them  both  substantially  what  Jo  had  said  to 
me  on  my  leaving,  and  that  I  had  come  for  him  to  gc 
fcaek  with  me,  for  I  was  sure  that  in  this  important  emer 


BACK  TO  TWIN  MOUNDS.  391 

geskcy  his  coal  judgment  would  be  valuable.  Agues  was 
very  much  pleased,  but  Barker  was  as  grave  as  usual,  and 
only  said  that  he  would  return  with  me  at  once  if  I 
thought  it  necessary. 

It  was  agreed  that  before  we  started  we  should  refresh 
ourselves  with  food,  and  while  Agnes  was  preparing  it 
(how  gay  she  was;  I  think  even  her  father  must  have 
noticed  it)  he  again  inquired  very  particularly  as  to  what  Jo 
had  said,  and  when  I  had  finished,  he  went  out  and  sat  on 
the  porch  alone  until  Agnes  called  him.  I  believed  he 
was  thinking  that,  no  matter  what  the  plan  was,  he  would 
not  falter  in  his  part  in  it,  and  I  was  so  much  encouraged 
that  I  went  out  to  tell  Agnes  that  within  a  week  our  dear 
friend  Jo  would  be  free. 

During  the  drive  back  to  town  Barker  was  very  grave, 
saying  but  little,  and  in  consequence  I  dro\£  rapidly.  As 
we  passed  the  jail  I  saw  that  all  the  lights  were  out,  and 
supposing  that  Jo  was  asleep,  we  went  on  to  the  house  to 
ipend  the  night,  and  in  a  very  little  wiile  I  wsw  ftst 
ulesp. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

THE  GBAVE  BY  THE  PATH. 

1HAVE  heard  that  dreams  go  by  contraries;  whethei 
they  do  or  not  Jo  was  in  my  mind  a  great  deal  that 
aight,  and  he  was  once  more  free  to  go  where  he  pleased, 
without  the  restraint  of  cruel  stone  walls  and  iron  doors. 
[  thought  of  him  as  I  had  seen  him  during  the  first  year  of 
his  apprenticeship  at  Damon  Barker's,  when  he  was  full 
of  hope  for  the  future,  and  tender  as  a  child  because  oi 
his  love  for  Mateel,  and  we  were  happy  together  again, 
without  knowledge  of  the  unhappiness  in  both  our  lives. 

I  slept  until  rather  a  late  hour,  and  was  awakened  by 
the  sheriff  from  the  jail,  who  came  up  to  my  bed  in  great 
excitement,  holding  a  letter  in  his  hand.  I  did  not  know 
how  he  got  into  the  room,  but  supposed  Barker  was  up 
before  me,  and  had  admitted  him. 

The  letter  was  addressed  to  me,  and,  hurriedly  opening 
it  while  yet  in  bed,  I  read :  — 

MY  DKAB  OLD  FRIEND,  —  When  this  shall  fall  Into  your 
hands,  the  plan  I  spoke  to  you  about  will  hare  been  carried  into 
effect,  and  I  shall  be  dead. 

After  several  months  of  careful  consideration  —  for  I  thought 
about  it  long  before  Bragg  was  killed  —  I  determined  to  do  myself 
a  kindness  by  taking  my  own  life,  and  I  write  this  an  hour  before 
I  carry  that  resolution  into  effect. 

To  a  friend  who  has  been  as  true  as  you  have  been,  it  is  only 
necessary  for  me  to  say  that  I  have  fully  justified  myself  in  this 
course.  Next  to  the  horror  I  have  of  escaping  from  this  jail,  I 
have  a  horror  of  a  public  execution,  which  would  certainly  befall 
me,  for  I  am  guilty,  and  take  so  much  pleasure  in  my  guilt  that  ] 
cannot  deny  it. 

392 


JO'S  LAST   LETTER.  393 

Since  the  first  thought  of  taking  my  own  life  came  into  my 
mind,  it  has  never  been  a  horrible  one,  and  when  I  first  knew  that 
Bragg  was  to  marry  Mateel,  I  resolved  to  kill  him,  and  then  my 
self.  The  first  part  of  the  resolve  I  carried  out  as  I  intended;  the 
second  will  have  been  accomplished  when  this  falls  iatc  your 
hands. 

As  I  wrote  just  now  I  laid  down  my  pen  to  consider  whether  I 
had  any  regrets  in  leaving  the  world.  I  found  there  was  one;  your 
sorrow  when  you  read  this,  but  beyond  that,  nothing  There  is 
no  reason  why  I  should  care  to  live,  and  there  are  a  great  many 
why  I  wish  to  die,  the  principal  one  being  oblivion  of  my  disgrace 
and  crime.  Whether  the  religion  we  were  taught  is  true  or  not,  I 
shall  probably  peacefully  sleep  a  long  time  before  I  am  judged,  and 
I  am  almost  willing  to  submit  to  a  future  of  torture  for  a  period  of 
forgetfulness,  for  my  trouble  comes  to  me  in  my  sleep  of  late,  and 
I  have  no  rest.  My  head  is  such  a  trouble  to  me  now  that  I  have 
feared  that  it  will  not  die  with  my  body,  but  after  that  I  am  buried 
it  will  still  ache  and  toss  about. 

If  I  have  a  hope  of  the  future  at  all  —  I  don't  know  that  I 
have  —  it  is  that  when  the  Creator  is  collecting  the  dead  for  the 
judgment,  He  will  shed  a  tear  on  my  grave,  and,  knowing  my 
unhappy  life,  permit  me  to  sleep  on.  If  this  cannot  be,  my  fate 
cannot  be  much  worse  elsewhere  than  it  is  here,  and  for  th« 
chance  of  oblivion  I  am  willing  to  take  the  risk.  In  any  event, 
ray  judge  will  be  a  just  one,  and  I  am  willing  to  appear  be 
fore  Him. 

1  once  told  you  that  I  hoped  none  of  my  friends  would  be  per 
mitted  to  look  upon  my  dead  face,  therefore  I  request  that  you  do 
not  look  at  me  when  you  visit  the  jail  to  arrange  for  my  burial.  I 
prefer  that  you  remember  my  face  as  you  saw  it  last  night,  when 
you  went  away,  for  you  said  it  looked  natural  again.  I  am  sure 
that  when  last  you  looked  into  my  face  I  was  smiling,  and  I  want 
jronr  recollection  to  be  that  of  me.  If  you  should  see  me  dead,  the 
horror  would  so  fasten  on  your  mind  that  you  would  always  think 
of  my  eyes  as  set  and  staring,  and  of  my  face  as  pale  and  ghastly. 
Therefore  I  ask  that  you  do  not  look  at  me,  or  permit  any  one  else 
*ho  has  ever  been  my  friend  to  do  so. 

You  will  find  me  ready  for  burial,  as  I  shall  dress  for  that  pur 
pose  before  taking  the  draught  which  will  end  my  life.  When  I 
feel  death  approaching,  I  intend  to  fix  in  a  position  I  have  seen 
dead  bodies  lie  in,  so  that  I  shall  have  to  be  disturbed  as  littJe  as 


394  THE   STORY  OP  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

possible.  It  may  please  you  to  know  that  I  died  without  pain 
that  I  went  to  sleep,  and  never  wakened.  Among  the  books  I  had 
access  to  at  Barker's  was  one  on  chemistry,  and  on  pretence  ol 
illness  I  procured  a  drug  which  first  put  me  into  a  pleasant  sleep, 
and  then  killed  me. 

I  want  you  to  bury  me  in  Fairview  churchyard,  near  the  path 
that  leads  toward  our  old  home.  Theodore  Meek  has  three  chil< 
dren  buried  near  it,  and  there  was  so  much  sorrow  when  they  died, 
and  there  was  always  so  much  love  and  kindness  in  that  family, 
that  I  shoul  I  like  to  be  in  their  company.  You  and  I  always 
chose  that  path  on  our  way  to  and  from  the  church,  and  I  shall 
think  of  two  pairs  of  little  feet  forever  travelling  up  and  down  it, 
bpirits  of  the  past,  keeping  vigil  over  my  grave. 

I  am  sure  that  you  and  Agnes  will  frequently  visit  it,  and  talk 
tenderly  of  me,  and  I  hope  that  grim  and  honest  Damon  Barker 
will  stop  there  when  he  passes  the  church,  and  go  away  in  deep 
reflection.  I  have  never  imagined  that  Mateel  will  visit  it,  but  if 
she  should  —  if  it  should  ever  appear  that  I  was  in  any  way  mis 
taken  in  this  unhappy  business  —  I  hope  you  will  come  upon  her 
while  she  is  there,  and  say  that  Jo  Erring  loved  her  so  much  that 
he  laid  down  his  life  for  her  sake. 

Only  say  to  the  people  with  reference  to  me  that  I  took  life  in 
a  wicked  moment,  and  gave  my  own  to  avenge  it,  and  that  I  died 
in  the  full  possession  of  all  my  faculties.  They  may  be  unable  to 
understand  why  my  life  has  been  such  a  tragedy,  but  they  can 
understand  that  I  have  made  all  the  reparation  possible  for  a  crime 
which  I  could  not  help  committing. 

I  have  only  to  say  now  that  if  you  could  realize  how  unhappy 
I  am,  you  would  freely  forgive  my  action,  and  feel  that  it  was  for 
the  best,  as  I  made  you  say  before  you  went  away.  For  your 
numberless  acts  of  kindness  to  me  I  can  only  thank  you,  which  ia 
a  small  return,  but  I  have  nothing  else. 

I*  is  now  eleven  o'clock;  in  half  an  hour  I  shall  be  dead,  and  I 
find  that  I  am  stronger  in  my  purpose  than  ever  before.  There  it 
but  one  sad  duty  yet  before  me;  that  is  to  write  good-by. 

Jo  EKBINS. 

Barker  and  the  sheriff  were  sitting  beside  me  when  I 
bad  finished  reading  the  letter  aloud,  and  while  I  was 
aumedly  dressing,  I  heard  the  sheriff  say  to  Barker  that 


BEST  TO  THE  WEARY  SPIRIT.  395 

after  I  left  the  jail  the  evening  before,  Jo  fell  in  a  heap 
on  the  floor,  where  he  remained  a  long  while,  but  at 
length  recovered  his  composure,  and  stood  looking  out  of 
the  window  in  the  direction  I  had  taken  until  long  after 
the  night  had  come  on.  Later  in  the  evening  he  pitied 
Lie  lonely  condition  so  much  that  he  went  in  to  sit  awhile 
with  him,  but  he  had  little  to  say,  and  showed  a  disposi 
tion  to  retire  early.  In  the  morning  he  remembered  hii 
strange  agitation  of  the  night  before,  and,  opening  the 
cell  door  soon  after,  he  saw  him  lying  on  his  bed,  covered 
with  a  white  sheet.  Going  in  he  found  him  dead,  and 
dressed  for  burial,  lying  on  his  back,  with  his  hands,  in 
which  was  clutched  the  letter  addressed  to  me,  folded 
across  his  breast.  He  had  not  even  told  his  wife  of  the 
discovery,  so  that  in  the  minds  of  the  peoplo  Jo  Erring 
was  still  alive. 

We  went  to  the  jail  together,  and,  admitting  ourselves 
to  the  room  where  the  body  lay,  decided  what  to  do.  It 
was  agreed  that  a  coroner's  jury  should  be  summoned 
from  among  Jo's  friends,  who  would  hold  an  inquest 
immediately,  after  which  we  would  take  the  body  to 
Fairview  for  burial.  Fortunately  we  found  a  number  of 
his  friends  in  town,  among  them  Theodore  Meek  and 
Lytle  Biggs,  and,  summoning  them  to  the  jail,  they  first 
heard  of  the  death  there.  After  we  were  all  inside,  I 
read  the  letter  to  them,  and  as  none  of  them  wished  to 
look  at  the  face  after  listening  to  what  Jo  had  written,  it 
was  agreed  that  the  coroner,  who  was  a  physician,  should 
examine  the  body  alone,  and  that  the  verdict  should  be  in 
accordance  with  his  discoveries.  The  verdict  was  death 
from  poison,  administered  by  his  own  hands,  and  we  all 
ligned  it. 

By  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  the  Sheriff  and  hii 
assistant  had  the  body  arranged  in  a  neat  burial  caw 


396  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

tfhicb  Barker  and  I  had  procured,  and,  a  messenger  Laving 
been  sent  ahead  to  dig  the  grave  and  notify  Agnes,  at 
three  o'clock  the  little  procession  left  the  jail  yard  for 
Fairview.  Barker  and  I  led  the  way  with  a  light  wagon, 
in  which  was  the  coffin,  and  a  half  dozen  other  vehicles 
Tollowed,  carrying  a  few  people  from  town,  and  those  oi 
the  Fairview  men  who  had  been  on  the  jury.  There  was 
a  great  crowd  present  when  we  drove  away,  and  as  we 
passed  down  the  street,  a  great  many  women  and  children 
came  out  of  the  different  doors  with  offerings  of  flowers, 
which  they  either  tossed  to  me  or  laid  on  the  casket. 

Owing  to  the  slow  pace  at  which  we  travelled,  we  did 
not  come  in  sight  of  Fairview  church  until  near  dark,  and 
just  as  the  steeple  appeared,  there  was  a  single  stroke  of 
the  great  bell.  This  continued  at  intervals  until  twenty- 
six  strokes  had  been  tolled,  when  it  ceased  entirely,  which 
was  quite  right,  as  the  deceased  would  not  have  been 
twenty-seven  years  old  for  several  months. 

We  had  halted  in  front  of  the  gate  by  this  time,  and  I 
saw  that  a  great  many  people  were  present ;  that  some  of 
them  carried  lanterns,  and  that  they  respectfully  un 
covered  their  heads  as  they  gathered  about  the  wagon  in 
which  the  coffin  lay.  Six  stout  young  men  appearing, 
they  carried  the  casket  to  the  grave  by  the  path,  where 
all  the  people  followed,  and  it  was  put  down  on  two 
sticks  laid  across  it.  If  ever  I  felt  an  unfriendliness  for 
the  people  there,  it  vanished  as  I  stood  sobbing  by  the 
s^rave  of  my  only  relative  and  best  friend.  Many  of  the 
women  were  softly  crying,  as  I  remembered  them  when 
they  told  of  their  heavy  crosses  and  burdens  at  the  ex 
perience  meetings,  and  when  some  one  of  the  numbe* 
began  singing  a  hymn  full  of  hope  and  forgiveness,  * 
thought  I  never  could  thank  them  enough  for  the  kind 
ness.  I  had  expected  that  only  a  few  idlers  would  attend 


PEACE  TO  THE  QUIET  DEAD.  893 

bat  all  the  neighborhood  was  there,  and  they  showed  thai 
they  loved  Jo,  and  respected  him,  in  spite  of  his  crime.  I 
bad  not  shed  a  tear  until  I  saw  the  open  grave  —  my  griei 
was  so  great  that  I  could  not  find  even  that  poor  relief  — 
but  I  could  not  control  myself  then,  and  wept  as  I  never 
had  before.  I  shuddered  when  I  remembered  that  I  had 
often  sung  in  mockery  the  hymn  the  people  were  singing 
—  how  I  hoped  Jo  had  not !  —  but  I  am  sure  it  was  not 
intended  for  mockery,  and  that  we  did  not  think  what  we 
were  doing. 

There  was  a  slight  pause  just  before  the  straps  were  put 
under  the  coffin  to  lower  it  into  the  grave,  and  greatly  to 
the  surprise  of  every  one,  Rev.  Goode  Shepherd  came 
pushing  his  way  through  the  crowd.  I  saw  in  one  glance 
that  he  was  poorly  dressed,  and  pale,  and  distressed,  and, 
taking  a  place  at  the  head  of  the  grave,  he  delivered  an 
address  which  I  have  never  heard  surpassed  in  tenderness, 
and  paid  a  tribute  to  the  dead  which  started  the  tears  of 
the  tired,  sorrowing  women  afresh.  When  he  had  finished 
he  raised  his  trembling  hands  to  heaven,  and  prayed  fer 
vently  for  the  peace  and  rest  of  all  weary  men  beyond 
the  grave.  He  then  stepped  aside  to  make  room  for  the 
young  men  who  were  to  lower  the  coffin,  and  though  we 
looked  for  him  afterward,  he  could  not  be  found. 

When  the  grave  was  filled  up,  I  remember  sitting  down 
upon  the  mound,  and  sobbing  afresh,  and  that  the  women 
who  had  known  my  mother  —  some  of  them  had  heard  my 
first  cry  when  I  came  into  the  world  —  put  their  hands 
ienderly  on  my  head,  and  tried  to  comfort  me.  I  could 
not  thank  them,  or  speak,  and  one  by  one  they  went 
away,  until  I  was  alone  with  my  dead.  But  there  was  a 
figure  which  came  to  me  then  whose  touch  I  could  noi 
•cuBtake  •  oh,  A^jnes,  how  welcome  to-night. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

THE  HISTORY  OF  A  MISTAKE. 

ITTHETHER  Jo  left  a  message  with  me  for  Mateel  1 

VV  do  not  now  remember,  it  seems  so  long  ago,  but  it 
must  have  been  an  unimportant  one  if  he  did,  for,  from 
the  time  of  their  separation  to  his  death,  he  talked  of  her 
only  as  one  who  had  deliberately  meditated  and  agreed  to 
his  disgrace.  Although  he  always  loved  her,  he  believed 
that  his  memory  must  have  passed  entirely  out  of  her 
mind  during  the  time  they  lived  apart,  and  was  ashamed 
to  confess  it,  even  to  me,  in  the  face  of  her  contemplated 
marriage  to  Clinton  Bragg,  which  she  must  have  known 
was  the  greatest  humiliation  to  which  she  could  subject 
him,  and  if  he  left  any  word  at  all,  it  was  only  a  regret 
that  their  lives  had  been  mutually  so  unhappy.  I  had  not 
seen  her,  or  talked  with  any  one  who  had,  since  the 
dreadful  night  when  I  carried  her  moaning  into  her 
father's  house,  and  I  knew  nothing  of  her  except  occa 
sional  rumors  which  came  to  me  from  people  who  passed 
that  way  that  she  was  very  ill,  and  that  but  few  went  to 
the  Shepherds',  and  that  none  of  those  who  did  ever  saw 
Mateel. 

But  the  appearance  of  her  father  at  Jo's  grave,  and  his 
tender  tribute  to  the  memory  of  my  dead  friend,  affected 
rne  so  much  that  I  felt  it  my  duty  to  call  at  their  house 
before  I  slept.  I  cannot  explain  this  determination  fur 
ther  than  that  I  was  anxious  to  appear  among  them ;  it 
tnay  have  been  that  I  wanted  to  tell  them  how  good  and 


A  HAUNTED  IIOAP.  399 

brave  Jo  had  always  been,  and  how  much  ae  lored  hie 
wife  to  the  last,  or  it  might  have  been  that  I  was  con 
vinced  there  was  some  terrible  mistake  on  our  part,  for 
the  appearance  of  Mr.  Shepherd  as  we  stood  around  the 
grave  implied  that  he  had  one  friend  among  thorn,  al 
though  we  had  always  imagined  that  they  were  all  against 
him.  However  it  was,  I  could  not  resist  the  impulse  to 
call  at  their  house  that  night,  and  when  we  arrived  at  the 
mill  after  the  burial,  I  informed  Barker  and  Agnes  of  my 
determination.  They  offered  no  objection,  if  they  said 
anything  at  all,  and  I  still  remember  that  both  bade  me 
good-night  tenderly  when  I  drove  away  into  the  dark 
ness,  leaving  them  standing  at  their  door. 

There  was  a  road  from  Barker's  to  the  home  of  the. 
Shepherds'  which  followed  the  river  a  distance,  and  then 
led  up  on  to  the  divide  where  their  house  was  built,  and  I 
was  very  familiar  with  it,  having  travelled  it  many  times. 
It  was  the  road  which  Jo  had  used  on  his  visits  to  Mateel 
when  he  was  an  apprentice  at  Barker's,  and  part  of  it  the 
road  which  Clinton  Bragg  had  travelled  on  his  fatal 
journey  the  night  he  was  married  to  Mateel,  and  if  I  saw 
one  spectre  in  the  darkness  around  me,  I  saw  a  thousand. 
The  story  I  have  written  was  produced  in  white  lines 
etched  on  the  darkness  of  the  night  —  Jo  returning  from 
the  minister's  house,  young  and  hopeful ;  Jo  going  to  his 
own  home,  with  Mateel  by  his  side,  a  little  older,  and 
looking  careworn,  but  still  hopeful;  Jo  coming  toward 
Barker's  after  the  separation  from  Mateel,  with  a  frown 
upon  his  face  so  fierce  and  distressed  that  I  could  not  tell 
whether  his  enemy  should  pity  or  fear  him ;  Jo  skulking 
behind  the  trees,  and  watching  up  the  road ;  Jo  carrying 
Mateel  in  his  arms,  and  clambering  up  the  hill  which  led 
from  the  mill  to  his  house;  Jo  in  jail,  with  the  white 
ihroud  about  him,  under  which  none  of  us  was  to  look, 


AOO  THE  STORY   OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 


and  trhtrttdver  I  turned  niy  eyes,  upward  or  downward,  ta 
the  right  or  to  the  left,  ahead  or  behind,  was  his  grave, 
which  I  had  just  left  at  Fairview.  Clinton  Bragg  was 
lying  under  every  tree,  first  as  I  had  seen  him  dead  in  the 
woods,  and  then  as  he  lay  surrounded  by  the  crowd  in  the 
town,  and  walking  wearily  in  front  of  me  was  my  father, 
bending  low  under  a  heavy  burden  which  he  carried.  li 
I  whipped  up  the  horses,  and  hurried  on,  the  spectre  dis 
appeared  for  a  moment,  but  after  I  had  slowed  up  again, 
and  had  aln«ost  forgotten  it  in  feeling  my  way  through 
the  trees,  it  appeared  ahead  of  me  as  before,  only  that  the 
load  he  earned  was  heavier,  and  that  he  pursued  his 
journey  with  more  difficulty.  This  fancy  took  such  hole7 
upon  my  imagination  that  I  thought  of  the  distant  light 
which  finally  appeared  as  the  lamp  which  always  burned 
in  my  mother's  room,  toward  which  the  bending  figure 
was  always  travelling,  and  when  it  turned  out  to  be  a 
light  in  Mr.  Shepherd's  window,  I  looked  about  for  the 
man  with  the  load  on  his  back,  but  he  had  disappeared, 
with  Jo,  and  Bragg,  and  the  rest  of  them. 

My  timid  knock  at  the  door  was  answered  by  Mr.  Shep 
herd  himself,  who  carried  a  light  in  his  hand,  as  he  did 
on  the  night  when  I  had  seen  him  last,  and  he  seemed  as 
much  surprised  as  when  I  had  stood  on  the  same  steps 
a  few  months  before,  bearing  his  moaning  child  in  my 
arras,  for  he  started  back,  and,  *hrowing  his  unoccupied 
hand  to  his  Lead,  looked  first  at  me  and  then  around  the 
room,  as  though  he  ought  to  recollect,  but  somehow  could 
not.  When  he  recovered  himself,  which  he  did  appa 
rently  on  discovering  that  I  carried  no  insensible  form  in 
my  arms,  he  set  down  the  light  he  carried  to  the  door, 
and  asked  me  to  be  seated,  which  I  did,  feeling  uncertain 
whether,  after  all,  I  had  not  better  have  remained  away, 
not  knowing  what  to  say  my  errand  was  should  be  asfc 
the  question. 


NEITHER  TO  BLAME.  401 

He  put  his  hand  to  his  head  again,  as  if  he  always  felt 
A  pain  there  now,  and  could  only  forget  it  in  moments  oi 
excitement,  and  then,  resting  his  arm  on  the  table  at 
which  he  had  seated  himself,  looked  at  the  floor  in  the 
piteous,  helpless  way  which  was  common  to  him,  I 
thought  if  he  had  spoken  it  would  have  been  that  he  wag 
very  sorry,  but  really  he  could  not  help  it.  He  brushed 
the  tears  out  of  his  eyes  with  his  sleeve,  as  my  father  did 
when  I  had  seen  him  last,  and  as  though  he  had  been 
warned  not  to  cry,  and  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  I 
thought  the  two  were  much  alike;  perhaps  all  men  are 
alike  when  they  are  old,  and  poor,  and  broken.  I  knew 
now  for  the  first  time  that  he  was  distressed  as  much  on 
Jo's  account  as  on  Mateel's ;  that  there  was  equal  pity  in 
his  heart  for  them  both,  for  his  manner  indicated  it  as 
much  as  if  he  had  made  the  declaration. 

"  My  poor  children,"  he  said,  as  if  they  both  stood  be 
fore  him,  "  how  you  both  have  suffered  !  And  neither  to 
blame.  Both  of  them  were  always  doing  what  they 
thought  to  be  for  the  best,  but  always  wrong.  My  poor 
children ! " 

I  had  never  thought  of  this  before ;  neither  to  blame, 
and  always  wrong,  but  I  felt  now  that  it  was  true.  In 
my  own  mind  I  had  accused  Mated,  but  her  good  old 
father  called  them  both  his  unhappy  children,  and  said 
neither  was  to  blame,  and  in  my  heart  I  could  not  think 
less. 

"  When  Mated  came  home  after  the  unfortunate  sepa 
ration,"  Mr.  Shepherd  continued,  timidly  looking  about 
the  room,  as  if  to  assure  himself  that  no  gliosts  were  pres 
ent  to  accuse  him,  "  although  I  thought  it  was  but  a  tem- 
Dorary  affair,  I  regretted  it  no  more  on  account  of  the 
one  than  the  other,  and  through  it  all  —  during  the  long 
months  which  have  brought  nothing  to  this  hense  but 


THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWS. 

bruised  and  broken  hearts  —  I  have  had  this  sentiment^ 
and  no  one  has  spoken  ill  of  him  here  any  more  than 
they  have  spoken  ill  of  Mateel.  This  is  as  true  as  that  1 
have  spoken  it,  for  with  the  graves  filling  up  around  m« 
BO  rapidly,  I  could  not  give  reason  for  a  wrong  inference, 
even  if  I  were  anxious  to  excuse  a  mistaken  action.  Jo 
has  always  had  justice  done  him  here  the  same  as  Mateel." 

I  was  surprised  to  hear  this,  for  I  had  felt  that  Mrs. 
Shepherd  and  Bragg  had  upbraided  Jo  to  Mateel,  to  in. 
duce  her  to  take  the  step  she  did,  and  that  her  father 
held  his  peace,  if  he  did  not  approve  of  it.  We  never 
talked  about  it,  but  this  was  the  understanding  Jo  and  I 
had,  and  I  think  we  accepted  it  so  thoroughly  that  we 
blamed  Mateel  that  she  permitted  it.  We  thought  she 
had  little  regard  for  her  husband  that  she  allowed  her 
mother  and  Clinton  Bragg  to  counsel  her  against  him,  and 
I  began  to  realize  that  in  this  we  had  been  cruel  and 
unjust. 

"  I  allowed  them  to  do  what  they  pleased,"  he  went  on 
again  slowly  and  painfully,  "  hoping  and  praying  it  would 
all  turn  out  for  the  best,  but  I  always  thought  of  Jo  as 
one  of  my  children,  and  have  been  tempted  to  call  on 
him  in  his  lonely  home  and  tell  him  how  sorry  I  was  it 
had  happened.  I  knew  how  unhappy  a  man  of  his  fine 
ability  must  have  been  under  such  unfortunate  circum 
stances,  but  my  pride  kept  me  from  it.  I  see  now  that 
there  has  been  too  much  pride  all  around  in  this  affair ; 
I  have  known  it  all  the  time,  but —  "  I  knew  what  he  was 
^oing  to  say  —  "  but  I  could  not  help  it ;  really,  I  could 
not ;  I  have  done  the  best  I  could,  but  it  has  gone  wrong 
in  spite  of  me." 

He  was  always  saying  that ;  everything  went  wrong  in 
spite  of  him,  which  has  been  the  experience  of  so  mauj 
thousands  before  him,  but  I  felt  with  a  keen  pang  of  coik 


TOO  LATB.  408 

science  that  he  had  done  more  than  I,  for  while  I  was 
tecretly  blaming  Mateel,  he  did  not  blame  Jo ;  that  wl  He 
I  had  never  thought  of  aiding  a  reconciliation,  nnlesi 
Mateel  should  ask  it,  that  had  been  his  one  prayer  and 
hope. 

"  I  see  now,  after  it  is  too  late,  —  somehow  I  never  see 
anything  in  time  to  be  of  use  to  others  or  to  myself,  —  that 
this  is  all  a  dreadful  mistake.  You  have  not  said  it,  but 
your  coming  here  tells  me  that  what  I  think  is  true ;  that  he 
was  always  waiting  for  Mateel  to  come  to  him,  and  I  know 
so  well  that  she  was  always  praying  that  he  would  come 
to  her ;  not  to  ask  forgiveness,  but  to  say  he  missed  her, 
and  loved  her,  and  that  his  home  and  heart  were  lonely. 
She  was  waiting  for  him  to  write  her  just  a  line  —  what 
a  little  thing  to  have  prevented  all  this  —  that  she  must 
see  him  or  die,  as  she  will  die  now  without  it.  He  was 
expecting  a  simple  request  from  his  wife  to  come  to  her, 
and  had  it  been  sent,  my  brave  Jo  would  have  come 
though  a  thousand  Braggs  blocked  the  way." 

He  got  up  from  his  chair,  and  walked  up  and  down 
the  room,  wringing  his  hands  helplessly,  and  repeating: 
"  My  poor  children ;  my  poor  children !  How  they  have 
suffered!" 

"  We  thought  in  our  pride  —  how  unjust  it  was  I  now 
see,  though  you  have  not  said  a  word  —  that  he  was  deter 
mined  to  live  without  her,  and  that  he  had  steeled  hia 
heart  against  a  reconciliation,  and  you  believed  that  we 
weie  determined  she  should  not  go  back  to  him  except 
upon  promises  and  conditions,  but  I  swear  to  you  my 
belief  that  she  would  have  crawled  on  her  knees  to  her 
old  home  had  she  believed  he  would  have  admitted  her. 
From  what  has  happened  since,  I  know  he  loved  her  all 
the  tune,  and  that  he  was  expecting  a  summons  to  come 
to  hei  every  moment  of  the  day  and  night.  What  a  littif 


104  THE  ST05JY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

thing  would  have  prevepted  all  this ;  a  word  from  yon  01 
me  and  it  would  have  been  done,  but  we  have  kept  apart 
from  the  beginning  until  the  end.  We  shall  have  to 
answer  for  it,  I  fear,  and  I  shall  not  know  what  to  say  at 
the  judgment." 

I  thought  I  knew  what  he  would  say :  "  I  could  not 
help  it,"  but  what  would  my  own  answer  be  ?  Perhaps 
only  what  millions  of  other  trembling  men  will  say :  "  I 
did  the  best  I  could  ;  I  did  not  think." 

In  looking  toward  him  to  make  reply,  and  assure  him 
that  he  was  right  in  his  generous  surmise,  I  became  aware 
that  some  one  was  standing  just  inside  the  door  which  led 
into  the  other  room,  and  taking  a  quick  glance  I  saw  it 
was  Mateel,  dressed  in  a  long  white  night-robe ;  that  she 
waited  rather  than  listened,  and  that  she  was  much 
agitated.  From  the  half-open  door  came  the  odor  of  a 
sick  room,  and  in  that  one  glance  I  saw  that  she  was  very 
pale,  and  very  weak,  and  very  ill. 

Instinctively  I  moved  in  my  chair,  to  get  my  face  away 
from  the  door,  instead  of  turning  it,  and  betraying  that  I 
had  seen  her,  and  as  I  did  this  I  heard  her  light  step 
enter  the  room.  I  saw  her  father  look  up  in  wonder,  and 
knew  that  her  mother  followed  in  a  frightened  way,  and 
gently  laid  hands  on  her,  entreating  her  to  return,  but  she 
put  them  off,  and  came  on  toward  me.  I  had  only  a  side 
glance,  but  I  could  see  that  her  eyes  were  riveted  on  me, 
and  that  she  leaned  forward  in  a  supplicating  way. 

"Jo,  my  husband,"  she  said  timidly,  and  pausing  to 
put  her  hands  to  her  head,  as  her  father  had  done,  "  why 
have  you  delayed  coming  so  long?" 

She  fell  on  her  knees  when  I  did  not  reply,  and  looked 
at  me  with  a  pitiful  face  indicating  that  she  would  shortly 
burst  out  crying.  I  turned  in  my  chair  that  she  miglrt 
lee  that  I  was  not  her  husband,  but  her  mind  was  troubled 


MATEEL'S  EXPLANATION.  103 

and  she  did  not  realize  it.  Indeed,  when  I  looked  steadily 
mto  her  eyes,  she  seemed  to  take  it  as  an  accusation  from 
Jo  of  neglect  and  dishonor,  and  she  staggered  to  her  feet 
again,  as  if  determined  to  tell  her  story.  There  was  a 
look  of  mingled  timidity,  sorrow,  and  sickness  in  her  face 
which  comes  to  me  yet  when  I  am  alone,  and  which  I 
ean  never  forget. 

"I  was  afraid  you  might  not  understand  that  I  always 
wanted  you  to  come,"  she  said,  coming  near  to  me,  and 
gently  stroking  my  hand,  as  if  hoping  to  thus  induce  a 
fierce  man  to  listen  until  she  had  concluded,  "but  I 
thought  you  would,  and  night  and  day  since  I  have  been 
away  from  home  —  such  a  long  time  it  has  been  ;  oh,  such 
a  very  long  time  —  I  have  expected  you  every  moment, 
Every  noise  I  have  thought  your  step,  and  when  I  found 
't  was  not,  I  listened  and  hoped  again.  You  have  never 
been  out  of  my  thoughts  for  a  moment,  but  my  prayers 
have  been  answered,  for  I  was  always  praying  for  you  to 
some.  I  wanted  to  tell  you  how  truly  I  have  always 
loved  you,  and  how  unhappy  and  ill  I  have  been  without 
you." 

It  was  turning  out  as  I  had  expected  after  the  appear 
ance  of  Mr.  Shepherd  at  the  grave,  but  how  distressed  I 
was  to  realize  that  the  explanation  came  after  Jo  wag 
dead,  and  Mateel  hopelessly  ill,  I  am  not  competent  to 
write ;  I  could  say  nothing  then,  as  I  can  write  nothing 
now,  of  the  horror  I  felt  when  I  knew  that  all  this  misery 
had  been  unnecessary.  As  Mateel  stood  before  me  she 
staggered  in  her  weakness,  and  her  mother  hurried  to  hei 
side,  but  again  she  put  her  off,  and  stood  erect  with  aii 
effort. 

"I  must  tell  you,  to  relieve  my  own  mind,  if  for 
nothing  else,  that  I  have  always  been  true  to  you,  and 
that  I  only  consented  to  receive  Clinton  Bragg  in  thii 


406  THE  STORY  OF  A  COUNTRY  TOWK. 

house  in  the  hope  that  you  would  rescue  me.  I  wai 
afraid  it  might  be  wrong,  but  I  did  not  know  what  else  to 
do.  I  hoped  that  when  you  heard  that  he  was  coming 
here,  you  would  walk  in  like  the  brave  man  that  you  are, 
and  demand  to  know  what  it  meant ;  then  you  would  give 
me  opportunity  to  explain,  and  I  hoped  you  would  praise 
me  for  making  us  happy  again." 

I  thought  that  her  father  and  mother  were  surprised  at 
this,  for  they  looked  curiously  at  each  other,  and  Mr. 
Shepherd's  hand  went  to  his  head  again  —  I  thought  to 
upbraid  it  for  not  discovering  the  secret  sooner. 

"  I  am  sorry  it  has  offended  you,  Jo,  but  I  could  think 
of  nothing  else,  and  I  desired  to  see  you  so  much.  I  wag 
always  weak  and  helpless,  and  perhaps  I  did  wrong,  but  1 
felt  that  I  must  do  something.  When  still  you  did  not 
come,  I  let  it  be  said  that  I  intended  to  many  him,  but  it 
was  all  for  love  of  my  husband ;  God  is  my  witness  and 
I  appeal  to  Him !  I  had  no  more  thought  of  marrying 
him  than  I  had  of  forgetting  you,  but  because  you  still 
delayed,  I  let  the  time  be  set,  believing  that  you  would 
not  allow  it  to  go  on,  and  give  me  opportunity  to  explain. 
When  the  day  arrived,  I  determined  to  let  it  go  on,  and 
if  you  did  not  rescue  me  from  him  before  I  passed  our 
home  on  the  way  to  town,  I  would  take  one  fond  look  at 
the  place  where  I  was  once  so  happy,  and  kill  myself,  so 
that  I  might  be  carried  dead  where  I  was  refused  admission 
alive.  I  was  very  firm  in  this  purpose,  and  would  have 
carried  it  out.  See,  I  have  the  knife  yet." 

She  took  from  her  bosom  a  dirk  knife  of  peculiar 
pattern,  which  Barker  had  given  Jo  and  me  when  we 
were  boys,  and  we  had  sharpened  it  so  often  that  the 
blade  was  very  thin  and  delicate.  She  tested  its  sharp, 
ness  by  passing  her  finger  across  its  edge,  and,  holding  it 
toward  me,  asked  me  to  see  how  keen  it  was. 


MAYBE  IT  IS  NOT  JO.  407 

"  When  you  sprang  out  from  among  the  trees  on  that 
dreadful  night  (I  had  been  expecting  you  to  spring  out 
just  as  you  did  every  moment  during  the  ride),  my  joy 
was  so  great  that  I  faulted,  and  when  I  awoke  it  was  with 
such  a  strange  f  eeling  in  my  head ;  but  I  will  recover  soon 
and  then  we  shall  be  happy  once  more.  I  can't  remembei 
when  it  happened ;  yesterday,  maybe,  but  not  long  ago, 
and  when  I  asked  for  you,  mother  said  you  had  gone  out, 
but  would  return  presently  if  I  waited  patiently.  After 
I  had  waited  a  long  while  I  wanted  to  go  to  you,  for  I 
knew  you  loved  me,  and  wanted  me  to  come,  but  they 
said  I  must  wait.  I  did  whatever  they  told  me,  for  they 
said  I  must  or  you  would  not  come  at  all.  But  won't  you 
speak  to  me  now,  since  I  have  explained  it  all  ?  " 

She  was  again  on  her  knees  before  me,  and  looking  ear 
nestly  into  my  face ;  at  first  entreatingly,  but  suddenly  I 
saw  a  change,  and  there  was  alarm  in  her  pale  face.  She 
recognized  me  I  thought,  and  I  steadily  looked  at  her  that 
she  might  realize  her  mistake. 

Hurriedly  rising  to  her  feet,  she  walked  to  the  othei 
side  of  the  room,  and  stood  beside  her  mother,  with  an  arm 
on  her  shoulder,  still  looking  at  me  in  alarm  and  fright. 

"  Oh,  mother,"  she  said  hesitatingly,  "  maybe  it  is  not 
Jo.  What  if  he  should  be  dead  and  never  know! 
Would  n't  that  be  terrible !  " 

She  was  so  much  exhausted  now  that  she  started  wearily 
to  return  to  her  bed,  still  looking  at  me  as  she  went,  appa 
rently  better  convinced  than  ever  that  I  was  not  Jo,  and 
her  father  and  mother  tenderly  supported  her  as  she 
walked.  They  slowly  passed  through  the  door  and  into 
her  room,  and  I  saw  them  gently  lay  her  down,  where  she 
asked  again  in  a  weak  but  excited  voice  if  it  would  n't 
DC  terrible  if  Jo  were  dead  and  would  never  know.  I 
.ooked  again,  and  Raw  Mr.  Shepherd  and  his  wife  kneeling 


408  THE  STORY  OF   A  COUNTRY  TOWN. 

fct  the  foot  of  the  bed,  convulsively  sobbing,  each  one  try 
ing  to  comfort  the  other,  and  both  of  them  trying  to  ^onv 
fort  Mateei.  I  noticed  then  that  the  minister  and  his 
W^ife  were  poorly  dressed;  that  the  furniture  of  the  rooms 
was  threadbare  and  old,  and  it  came  to  my  mind  that  they 
were  very  poor,  and  had  been  cruelly  neglected  by  those 
around  them.  All  these  circumstances  affected  me  so  much 
that  I  stepped  out  at  the  front  door  to  recover  myself,  aneJ 
was  surprised  to  find  Agnes  and  Barker  at  the  gate. 

They  explained  that  they  had  been  oppressed  with  the 
&ame  fear  that  oppressed  me,  and  could  not  resist  the 
temptation  to  drive  over.  I  hurriedly  told  them  that  it  was 
as  I  feared,  and  gave  them  as  many  particulars  as  I  could  be 
fore  we  went  into  the  house.  They  were  visibly  affected, 
and  as  I  pointed  around  at  the  general  evidences  of  decay, 
in  whispering  the  fear  that  during  Mateel's  illness,  and 
while  both  were  busy  in  caring  for  her,  they  had  sufferec 
from  poverty,  I  became  aware  that  Barker  had  been  a 
friend  to  them  during  the  time,  sending  them  money  and 
such  comforts  as  the  country  afforded,  although  they  never 
knew  who  befriended  them.  I  cannot  remember  what  it 
was  he  did  to  convince  me  of  this,  but  I  was  certain  of 
it,  and  the  opinion  was  afterwards  confirmed,  for  Agnes 
knew  of  it  and  told  me. 

It  must  have  been  an  hour  after  midnight  when  we  went 
into  the  house,  and  though  the  minister  and  his  wife  were 
surprised  to  see  Barker  and  Agnes,  they  were  pleased  as 
well,  and  somehow  seemed  to  think  that  matters  would 
^et  on  better  now,  for  they  were  more  cheerful  than  be 
fore,  as  though  the  neglect  of  their  friends  had  been  very 
humiliating. 

Mateei  had  fallen  into  a  light  sleep  soon  after  lying 
down,  but  she  wakened  in  the  course  of  an  hour,  and  stil! 
talked  of  how  long,  how  patiently,  she  had  vt  aited  for  Jo. 


REUNITED.  409 

and  how  terribta  it  wouM  he  if  he  were  dead  and  could 
never  know.  At  times  she  seemed  to  realize  that  he  would 
never  come,  when  she  remained  silent  a  long  while,  as  if 
to  think  it  all  over,  but  she  would  soon  forget  this,  and 
say  that  while  she  was  patient,  and  would  wait  as  long  aa 
ahe  could,  she  hoped  he  would  hurry,  as  she  was  growing 
weak  so  fast,  and  was  so  anxious  to  see  him  and  explain 
it  all. 

We  were  all  very  quiet,  occasionally  walking  carefully 
from  one  room  to  another  as  a  relief  after  sitting  a  long 
time  in  one  position,  and  it  so  happened  that  we  were  all 
standing  around  Mateel's  bed  when  she  asked :  — 

"  Father,  do  you  believe  Jo  is  in  heaven  ?  " 

The  good  man  was  startled  by  the  question,  not  know 
ing  how  to  reply,  but,  after  thinking  a  moment,  he  an 
swered,  speaking  with  an  effort :  — 

"It  is  my  hope  of  the  future  that  when  I  enter  the 
beautiful  gates  I  shall  find  Jo  Erring  waiting  for  me,  where 
I  can  explain  away  all  that  has  seemed  mysterious  here.  As 
I  believe  in  the  mercy  of  God,  I  expect  to  meet  him  and 
enjoy  his  intelligence  and  friendship,  both  of  which  I  have 
always  esteemed.  As  I  believe  in  my  wife  and  child,  as  I 
believe  in  my  religion,  I  believe  hi  Jo  Erring." 

The  invalid  seemed  much  pleased  with  this  assurance, 
and  simply  said  :  — 

"  I  am  glad  he  will  know  that  I  was  not  fickle  or  false  J 
for  I  will  explain  it  to  him." 

She  closed  her  eyes  then,  and  we  all  stepped  softly  out 
of  the  room  to  allow  her  to  sleep,  but  when  her  mother 
went  back  a  few  moments  later  she  found  that  the  unhappy 
iroman  was  dead. 


GRAFTER  XXXVL 

CONCLUSION. 

rhaa  been  ten  years  since  we  buried  Mateel  betide  her 
husband  in  Fairview  churchyard,  and  built  monu 
ments  over  their  graves.  I  have  been  rid  of  my  tiresome 
business  so  many  years  that  I  seem  never  to  have  been  in 
it  at  all,  and  I  can  scarcely  remember  the  tune  when  Agnes 
was  not  my  wife.  Damon  Barker  lives  with  us  in  the 
stone  house  in  Twin  Mounds,  which  has  been  rebuilt  and 
remodelled  so  often  that  it,  too,  enjoys  a  new  condition, 
and  I  sometimes  fear  we  do  not  think  so  much  of  Jo  and 
Mateel  as  we  ought,  or  of  the  Rev.  John  Westlock  and 
the  poor  woman  who  died  of  a  broken  heart;  for  some 
how  we  cannot  help  thinking  of  them  all  as  having  lived 
a  long  while  ago,  so  many  changes  have  taken  place  since 
they  were  among  us.  Many  of  the  people  who  lived  in 
Fairview  and  Twin  Mounds  when  they  did  are  dead; 
others  have  moved  away,  and  so  many  strangers  have  ar 
rived  that  it  seems  like  a  new  country,  and  one  in  which 
those  who  occupy  our  graves  never  lived. 

In  looking  through  Jo  Erring's  room  at  the  jail  after  hi* 
death,  we  found  a  will  bequeathing  his  property  to  me,  « 
certain  amount  to  be  paid  yearly  to  Mateel,  and  the  miK 
I  have  since  leased  to  such  advantage  that  it  has  been  th« 
§ource  of  a  great  deal  of  profit.  If  I  have  not  mentioned 
it  before,  it  may  be  interesting  to  know  that  my  father's 
wild  land,  of  which  he  owned  a  /arge  quantity,  has  greatly 
increased  in  value*  and  I  was  thinking  only  a  few  dayi  ag? 


BIO  ADAM,   MXLLKK.  411 

that  J  was  worth  considerable  money,  and  that  my  income 
wag  ample  to  support  me  without  work  of  any  kind.  IK 
addition,  Mrs.  Deming  died  possessed  of  some  property, 
which  came  into  the  possession  of  Agues,  and  with  Barker's 
money  we  are  quite  an  aristocratic  family. 

Big  Adam  operates  the  mill  on  Bull  River,  under  lease 
and  I  have  understood  that  in  a  few  years  he  will  be  i* 
condition  to  buy  it  outright.  I  am  sincerely  glad  of  this, 
for  he  is  a  very  worthy  man,  and  has  had  a  wife  and  chil 
dren  of  his  own  these  five  or  six  years.  It  is  said  of  Big 
Adam  and  his  wife  that  they  are  the  happiest  couple  in  all 
that  country,  and  I  often  go  there  to  witness  how  con 
tented  and  fortunate  the  good  fellow  is  after  his  hard  life. 
Not  long  ago  I  was  sitting  with  him  in  the  mill  after  dark, 
and  when  I  told  him  how  much  satisfaction  his  happiness 
afforded  me,  he  made  the  old  reply  of  pulling  an  imagin 
ary  cork,  and  pouring  out  liquor  in  distinct  gurgles.  His 
bandit  father  was  killed  a  few  years  ago  in  attempting  to 
rob  a  railroad  train,  but  Big  Adam  still  occasionally  tells 
that  his  father  gave  up  his  life  in  the  early  settlement  of 
the  West ;  in  short,,  that  he  was  killed  by  the  Indians. 

There  has  been  little  change  in  Mr.  Biggs,  or  Smoky 
Hill,  except  that  both  have  grown  older,  and  improved  a 
little.  I  drove  over  to  that  country  not  long  ago  in  quest 
of  a  servant  girl,  remembering  that  Mr.  Biggs  had  said 
that  it  produced  good  ones,  and  learned  that  two  or  three 
of  his  sous  were  very  idle  and  bad,  and  made  their  mothei 
and  their  neighbors  a  great  deal  of  trouble.  Mr.  Biggi 
himself  is  a  great  deal  in  town,  as  he  has  opened  a  kind  ot 
office  there  for  the  sale  of  land,  although  I  suspe  &t  that  il 
J3  no  more  than  an  excuse  to  keep  away  from  home.  1 
hear  from  him  frequently  with  reference  to  the  manage 
ment  of  children,  for  there  have  been  several  occasions  to 
•utEtion  the  subject;  but  for  all  that  it  is  notorious  that 


412  THE  STOUT   OF  A  COUNTRY   TOWN. 

ne  Las  not  the  slightest  control  of  his  own.  I  have  heard 
that  his  oldest  son  beat  him  on  one  of  his  visits  to  the 
farm,  for  he  is  much  larger  than  his  father,  and  of  a  very 
agly  disposition,  in  spite  of  the  circumstance  that  he  wore 
braid  on  his  clothes  until  he  was  seven  or  eight  years  old. 

I  have  never  yet  seen  Mrs.  Biggs,  for  her  husband  ap 
pealed  to  me  a  good  many  years  ago  never  to  visit  his 
hous«  if  I  respected  him,  as  it  did  not  correctly  represent 
him.  Agnes  goes  out  occasionally  to  quell  an  insurrection 
among  the  children,  who  have  the  greatest  respect  for 
her,  and  she  tells  me  that  I  may  hope  to  see  Mrs.  Biggs 
soon,  as  she  cannot  possibly  live  much  longer,  and  that  we 
shall  be  expected  to  attend  the  funeral. 

I  think  at  least  a  half  dozen  of  Theodore  Meek's  boys 
have  married,  and  settled  around  him  on  the  Fairview 
prairie,  and  their  children  are  as  much  at  home  in  the  old 
house  as  in  the  new  ones.  When  I  was  last  there  I  could 
scarcely  get  into  the  house  for  them,  and  my  impression 
was  that  the  boys  had  married  well,  for  they  were  all  yery 
prosperous  and  very  contented.  Their  nearest  neighbors 
were  the  Winter  boys,  who  have  developed  into  honorable 
and  worthy  citizens.  Their  father  has  been  in  heaven 
some  years,  and  they  seem  to  be  very  proud  of  the  repu 
tation  ae  left  in  FairviewT  and  take  good  care  of  their 
mother,  who  manages  their  house,  as  they  have  never 
married. 

The  Rev.  John  Westlock  has  never  been  heard  of  since 
the  stormy  night  when  I  saw  him  turn  a  corner  in  a  Twin 
Mounds  street  and  disappear ;  and  if  he  is  alive  this  night 
I  do  not  know  it,  no  more  than  I  know  he  is  dead.  1 
have  published  advertisements  in  a  great  many  widely 
circulated  newspapers,  asking  him  to  let  me  know  of  his 
whereabouts,  and  soliciting  information  of  an  old  and 
broken  man  of  his  description ;  I  have  made  several  jour- 


BLOTTED  OUT  WITH  A  TEAR.  413 

neys  in  answer  to  these  advertisements,  but  the  men  I 
found  were  not  at  all  like  him,  and  I  have  come  to  believe 
that  he  is  dead ;  but  if  he  is  not,  and  this  should  meet  liis 
sye,  I  trust  that  his  stubborn  heart  will  relent,  and  that 
he  will  consent  to  finish  his  days  in  peace  under  my  roof. 

Rev.  Goode  Shepherd  and  his  wife  returned  to  their  old 
home  in  the  East  a  few  months  after  the  death  of  their 
child,  and  twice  since  they  have  journeyed  to  Fairview  to 
visit  her  grave.  Their  devotion  to  her  memory  is  very 
touching,  and  it  has  always  been  a  comfort  to  me  to  know 
•>,hat  the  minister  still  believes  that  Jo  has  been  forgiven, 
and  that  the  blessed  Saviour  blotted  out  with  a  tear  the 
record  of  his  desperate  crime  at  the  ford. 

I  hope  the  place  where  Jo  and  Mateel  are  buried  is  very 
pretty,  for  I  have  spent  a  great  deal  of  time  in  attempts 
to  make  it  quietly  attractive,  and  cay  heart  has  always 
been  in  the  work.  While  everything  else  has  changed, 
Fairview  church  is  just  the  same,  and  every  night  when 
the  wind  blows  furiously,  I  imagine  that  the  great  bell  is 
tolling  a  muffled  requiem  for  their  unfortunate  history 
from  the  rickety  tower ;  every  bright  day  I  think  that  the 
birds  are  singing  softly  over  their  graves,  and  in  their  quiet 
corner  of  the  yard,  close  by  the  path  leading  toward  the 
old  Louse  where  they  first  met,  there  is  a  willow  that 
weeps  for  them  in  summer,  and  tenderly  covers  their 
graves  with  its  leaves  in  winter.  I  think  it  waa  planted 
by  Theodore  Meek,  in  whose  family  there  was  always  «o 
much  love  and  content ;  and  I  am  sure  that  whenever  j,h« 
good  man  visits  his  own  dead,  he  sends  a  message  upward 
for  Jo  Erring  and  Mattel 


WILLIAM  ALLEN  WHITE:  "  E.  W.  Howe  is  the  most  re 
markable  man  Kansas  or  the  Middle  West  has  produced.  More 
over,  he  has  written  the  greatest  novel  ever  written  in  or  about 
Kansas  or  the  Middle  West.  Wherever  one  goes,  East  or 
West,  among  people  who  know  books,  'The  Story  of  a 
Country  Town'  is  mentioned  when  Kansas  is  mentioned. 
It  is  one  of  the  ten  best  written  in  America.  It  will  be  read, 
and  its  influence  felt,  long  after  frothy  popular  books  about 
the  West  have  passed  in  the  tide  which  brought  them  to 
the  surface.  Edgar  Watson  Howe  is  the  best  expression  of 
Kansas  nationality,  and  so  long  as  he  lives  and  works  he  will 
continue  so  to  be." 

EDINBURGH  REVIEW:  "Western  civilization  in  back 
country  districts  has  been  well  drawn  by  Edgar  Eggleston,  but 
with  greater  intensity  and  reserved  power  by  E.  W.  Howe  in 
'  The  Story  of  a  Country  Town.' " 

"It  would  be  vain  to  search  for  the  secret  of  Mr.  Howe's 
literary  style,  for  he  has  no  style.  It  is  the  boy,  l  Ned  West- 
lock/  who  comes  to  sit  beside  you  and  pour  out  in  his  unpre 
tending  boy  fashion  the  story  of  his  boyhood  sorrows  and 
uncomprehended  trials — the  friends  and  aliens  of  his  youth. 
And  while  you  listen  to  him,  suddenly  through  the  boy's 
crudeness  and  hardness  is  interjected  the  philosophy  of  the 
maturer  mind,  and  Mr.  Howe's  outlook  over  his  Kansas 
town  appears.  Is  this  cold  gleam  the  reflection  which  years 
of  solitary  frontier  journalism  throw  over  the  face  of  hu 
manity?" — Minneapolis  Tribune. 


"It  was  written  entirely  at  night,  after  the  writer  had 
finished  a  hard  day's  work  as  editor  and  publisher  of  a  small 
evening  newspaper.  'I  do  not  think  a  single  line  of  it  was 
written  while  the  sun  was  shining,  but  in  almost  every  chap 
ter  there  are  recollections  of  the  midnight  bell.  No  one  can 
possibly  find  more  fault  with  it  than  I  have  found  myself. 
A  hundred  times  I  have  been  on  the  point  of  burning  the 
manuscript  and  never  attempting  it  again;  for  I  was  always 
tired  while  working  at  it,  and  always  dissatisfied  after  con 
cluding  an' evening's  work.  ...  I  believe  that  when  I  began 
the  story  I  had  some  sort  of  an  idea  that  I  might  be  able  to 
write  an  acceptable  work  of  fiction,  but  I  have  chanced  it 
so  often,  and  worried  about  it  so  much,  that  at  its  conclusion 
I  have  no  idea  whether  it  is  bad,  or  only  indifferent.  I  think 
that  originally  I  had  some  hope  that  it  might  enable  me  to 
get  rid  of  my  weary  newspaper  work,  and  help  me  to  more 
ease  than  I  have  ever  known,  but  I  am  so  tired  now  that 
I  am  incapable  of  exercising  my  judgment  with  regard  to 
it.' " — Springfield  Republican. 

Philadelphia  News:  "The  most  American  of  American 
novels.  It  is  original.  Mr.  Howe  suggests  no  one.  It  is  a 
horribly  fascinating  book.  Tragedy  and  pathos,  humor  and 
tenderness,  come  and  go  like  flashes  of  a  passing  thunder 
storm.  He  is  picturesque,  too,  but  it  is  the  picturesqueness 
of  Meryon's  etchings  with  the  darkly  bitten  shadows  sugges 
tive  of  ghosts.  He  is  humorous  with  the  hurnor  of  a  satirist 
like  Alfred  Rethel,  who  pictures  the  dance,  but  the  dance  of 
death,  with  pitiless  keenness  and  with  simplicity  and  direct 
ness." 


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